Enemies: A Love Story (Enemies, A Love Story)

(soldier speaking in foreign language)

No!

No!

(woman speaking in foreign language)

No!

Yadwiga?

Yadwiga?

Yadwiga?

Good morning.

What time is it?

10 o'clock.

I do shopping, I iron your shirt and underwear.

I clean kitchen floor and bathroom.

I had my breakfast but I'm ready to eat again with you.

Would you like, perhaps, tea?

Oh, no, no. Herman, you cannot go with barefoot.

I get your slippers.

I polish them.

Polish them?

Who polishes slippers?

They were all dried up.

Ay-ya-ya-ya, Yadzia, this is America, huh?

You're not the family servant anymore.

I fill your bathtub now.

I buy you a soap.

Perfume soap, smell.

Three for a dime.

Come.

I wash you.

What time does the train leave?

What?

At two o'clock.

Where's the city?

Philadelphia?

In America, where should it be?

Why don't you sell books here?

There are so many people.

- People come to Coney Island for popcorn, not books.

What kind of books are they?

Books on how to build bridges,

how to lose weight, how to run the government.

Books of songs, stories, plays, the life of Hitler.

- They write books about such swine?

- They write about all kinds of swine.

Tonight, I'll be having supper in Philadelphia.

Who you eat with?

Alone?

(Herman speaking in foreign language)

Talk so I can understand you.

Matzi, Pitzele, Pitzele!

Hey, Pitzele!

- The neighbor with the white hair

said I could earn $25 a week in a factory.

You want to go to work?

- You have to know how to read and write.

So you take the course.

I will enroll you.

Herman!

Herman, the old woman says you must know the alphabet first.

I will teach you.

When?

You are never at home.

- She's such a sweet girl, that Yadwiga.

- Vito Marcantonio to run for mayor!

Read all about it!

Marcantonio to run for mayor here!

Yes, sir?

Forverts.

Five cents.

(people shouting in foreign language)

- You're supposed to report first thing in the morning.

Where's my speech for Atlantic City?

If I had to depend on you, I'd be an unemployed rabbi.

I got six convalescent homes to worry about,

not to mention apartments in Borough Park, Williamsburg.

And I tell you, I'm sick and tired of you

living in a house without a telephone!

Oi, such a greenhorn.

I know, I know.

You live with an old tailor who saved your life in Poland

and he desperately needs your rent money to live.

A sob story.

Let me see this.

Now, you're starting to write.

This is great, great!

What's with the scribbling here?

Where's the rest of it?

If you can't finish it, tell me, I'll get somebody else.

I'll talk into a Dictaphone myself.

I'll have Mrs. Regal type it.

- Everything will be ready today.

I promise that.

I hope so.

Meanwhile, I'll hold on to this.

Now, once and for all, your address.

Where do you live?

Under Yankee Stadium?

I'm beginning to believe that you got a wife

and you're hiding her from me.

I wish I had the wife.

- If you want one, you could have one.

I picked out a fine woman for you.

You wouldn't even meet her.

What are you afraid of?

You wait long enough, you'll marry a shiksa.

The subject for my next speech,

mixed marriages, the plague of the Jews.

Now, are you going to finish this

and are you gonna give me your address?

Because if you don't, I'm gonna have to fire you.

This town is lousy with bookworms.

Everyone wants to be a ghostwriter.

- 3918 Pelham Drive in The Bronx.

- What's the name of the old tailor?

Pracz.

- Tell him to put in a phone and send the bill--

No, no, no, you can't do that.

Why?

- You can't install one without his consent.

Why should he care?

The ringing frightens him.

It reminds him of Auschwitz.

- There are other refugees and they have telephones.

Well, I--

It'll be good for him.

Put it in your room.

In case he gets sick, he could call a doctor,

maybe get help.

Lunatics, crazy people.

That's why Hitlers rise up.

Look, I wanted us to be friends

but there's something about you

that makes it very difficult.

I could help you a great deal but you close up like a clam.

Maybe.

Maybe I am no longer a part of this world.

Cliches, empty words.

I know hundreds of concentration camp survivors.

Some of them practically on the way to the oven

but they're doing fine.

They drive cars, they do business and they have telephones.

Maybe that's my problem.

I was hiding in a barn.

- Look, I don't wanna force my friendship on you.

But I'm calling today and having them install a telephone.

- Snow cones, get your snow cones!

Five-cent snow cones!

Snow cones, get your snow cones!

Five-cent snow cones!

Snow cones!

My mother.

Oh, Herman, Herman.

You know,

I've got in the habit of sitting down

and falling right off to sleep.

Did I sleep long?

- She walks around the house as quiet as a mouse.

There are real mice here.

I can't tell the difference anymore.

You're starting again.

What is burning?

Masha, I smell something is burning.

- Nothing is burning, Mama.

She blames me for everything that happens.

Right, the whole world is sane

and it's only your mother that's crazy.

- Don't put words in my mouth, Mama.

- You listen to how she's carrying on?

She always has to say something contrary.

She's just like her father.

May he rest in peace in the Garden of Eden.

Masha.

Masha!

Water.

It's her fault, you know, it's all her fault.

She wouldn't let me die.

I thought she was dead too, and then one day, she finds me.

The next day, she's already talking back to me.

Then she marries this man, this Leon Tortshiner.

Is that a charlatan!

You know, my daughter,

she can read the most difficult books.

When it comes to people,

she doesn't know her hands from her feet.

Now look, she's left sitting here, a deserted wife.