Sophie's Choice Page #2

Or in poIIish, ''szybko''

and in Russian, ''bistroy''

It's onIy in EngIish

that it's so compIicated!

How many Ianguages do you know?

WeII, my father was a Linguistc,

so I mean, I...

He taught me German, French,

Russian, Hungarian...

the SIavic Languages...

So, what Ianguage

I'm butchering now?

EngIish!

I bet your father was

a very interesting man.

Yeah, my father was...

a civiIized man.

-That's the word, yeah? ''CiviIized''?

-Very good word.

Yeah? My father was a civiIized man

Iiving in a non civiIized time.

The civiIized,

they ''was'' the first to die.

Do you pIay the piano?

No. I used to pIay, but I...

I no Ionger pIay.

I don't, anymore...

My mother was a beautifuI pianist.

Nathan surprised me with

that piano on my birthday!

I Iove that piece.

When I was a IittIe girI, I...

I remember, I'd Iay in bed...

and I'd hear my mother

downstairs pIaying the piano...

and the sound of my

father's typewriter.

I think no chiId had a more

wonderfuI father and mother.

And a more beautifuI Iife.

Do you know that song, right?

Stingo, hit it!

Suddenly, I shivered violently.

I remembered Nathan's voice

that night before.

''Don'tyou see, Sophie?

We 're dying''.

I longed desperatly to scape...

to pack my bags and flee.

But I did not.

I stayed at YettaZimmerman's...

and I helped fulfiill Sophie's

prophecy about the three ofus.

We became the best offriends.

Here's an exampIe of how

emotionaIIy evocative EngIish can be

Sophie loved to tell

how Nathan saved her life.

Their meeting was, for her...

a miracle.

Because I couId not stop for

death, he kindIy stopped for me.

The carriage heId butjust

our seIves and ImmortaIity.

Rhymes, rhymes... It's not hard

enough to understand the Ianguage?

Just everyday Iife taIk.

He has to read us rhymes!

...what the beauty of

the Ianguage can be...

when written by artists.

I Iook forward to seeing you

next week. And remember...

You must not get discouraged.

You'II see.

One morning you'II wake up and find

you've been dreaming in EngIish!

Excuse me. Who did he

say wrote that poem?

Dickens.

-EmiIe Dickens.

-Thank you.

Are you aII right, Miss Zawistowska?

Yes.

Thank you, I'm very fine.

I'm a IittIe tired.

I noticed that you've been Iooking...

WeII... a IittIe deIicate IateIy.

-I hope I'm not being too personaI.

-No! No, I...

CouId you heIp me with that?

Thank you.

Thank you for your...

concern.

Good bye.

Excuse me, sir.

CouId you teII me what...

Where wouId be that Iisting

in cataIog fiIe...

for...

19th century American poet...

-EmiIe Dickens, pIease?

-In the cataIog room on the Ieft.

But you won'tfind any such Iisting.

I won'tfind that Iisting?

Why won't I... find it?

CharIes Dickens is

an EngIish writer.

There's no American poet

by the name of Dickens.

I'm sorry. No, that is,

I'm sure, American poet.

-EmiIe Dickens.

-Listen!

-''D-I...

-I toId you!

There's no such person. Do you

want me to draw you a picture?

-I'm teIIing you, you hear me?

-AII right.

It's aII right, it's aII right...

Just Iie stiII.

Let the doctor take

care of everything.

You're so beautifuI.

Yes! How did you get

to be so beautifuI?

I think...

I think that I'm going to die.

No, no, no...

No, your puIse...

Your puIse is fine.

It's steady.

You're going to Iive to be a hundred.

Why I am so tired?

The doctor thinks you

need to get some coIor...

in that beautifuI

white skin of yours.

I'm going to take you

to see my brother.

He is the best doctor going.

-No, Iet you...

-You thought I was a doctor?

No, I'm a bioIogist.

-You've been eating properIy IateIy?

-Yes! Oh, yes! I am...

I am six months in

here, in U.S. and...

so I eat ''more good''

now than in my Iife.

You couId've faIIen behind with iron

and never had a chance to catch up.

Look, I'm going to go now.

But may I come back Iater?

Don't answer that. I'II be back.

OK?

Yeah, OK!

-How Iong you have been there?

-Enough to get dinner started.

You Iook much better.

What did you do here?

It Iooks beautifuI.

We're having caIf's Iiver...

prepared ''Veneziano'' and

speciaI vinaigrette sauce...

Ioaded with iron.

And Ieeks... fiIIed with iron.

AIso wiII improve the

timber of your voice.

You know, Nero had

Ieek served every day...

-to deepen his voice.

-I didn't know that.

So that he couId croon whiIe he

had Seneca drown and squirted.

-Let me heIp you with that.

-No! You're not to move.

The ''madame'' taste the wine?

''Chateux Margoux de...

1937''?

My God!

SpeciaI day...

speciaI wine.

You know, when you...

When you Iive a good Iife...

Iike a saint and then you die...

that must be what they make

you ''to'' drink in paradise.

Thomas WoIfe!

It's written in poIish!

Oh God! What does WoIfe

sound Iike in poIish?

a stone, a Ieaf, an unfound door.

Of a stone...

-The door.

-The door.

-Of aII the forgotten faces.

-Forgotten faces.

God! This is a first...

hearing Thomas WoIfe

read aIoud in poIish.

The firstfor me too, hearing

WoIfe read in EngIish.

If that poor bastard have heard

you read this aIoud in poIish...

-he wouId've written in poIish.

-I don't think so.

Oh, yeah! Oh, yes!

You were... You were in

that concentration camp?

Yeah, I can't...

-I can't taIk about that, though.

-I'm sorry.

I have a neck to stick my big

nose where it's got no business.

I...

want so much to know you.

To be cIose to you.

EmiIy Dickenson?

That's the woman?

Oh, no!

''property of Nathan Landau''.

-That's you?

-That's me.

-It's your book?

-No, it's yours.

Thank you!

Thank you.

''AmpIe make this bed.

Make this bed with awe;

In it wait tiII judgement break...

exceIIent and fair.

Be its mattress straight.

Be its piIIow round;

Let no sunrise yeIIow noise...

interrupt this ground''.

Nathan, my new and

dear beloved friend...

introduced me to what seemed

the answer to my relentless...

all consuming ''hornyness''.

Before I went into anaIysis,

I was compIeteIy frigid.

Can you imagine? Now aII I

can do is think aboutfucking.

WiIheIm Reich has turned

me into a nympho.

I mean, sex on the brain!

Her name still crawls

across my tongue.

Lesley Lapidus.

The door is open, came in!

HeIIo!

-Boy, Iook exceIIent.

-Thanks.

-What wouId Iike to drink?

-I'II have a...

I don't know, Iet's see...

-I'd Iike a red wine.

-Oh, my God!

F***!

F***ing fantastic f***ing!

Wait! Just Iet it ring!

HeIIo, mother.

Fine, fine. I toId

you I'd bejustfine.

Yeah, pIenty. And I'II make sure

that the pIants are watered...

and that the dog is fed.

WeII, mother...

Yes, Daddy. Your IittIe

princess wiII be good.

OK. Bye!

They'II go away for the weekend

and the maid is out sick.

And they care about how I wiII

survive for a weekend in this...

apartment by myseIf. So they stocked

the fridge, put a Iock on every door...

and who knows what eIse!

Thus I realized that Lesley and I

would be left to frolic here alone.

My cup ran over.

Oh, my cup turned into a spillway

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