Enemies: A Love Story

"Mixed marriages: The plague

of the Jews."

Now... are you

going to finish this?

And are you going

to 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.

I...

Thirty-nine eighteen

Pelham Drive.

- In-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. 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-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.

Uh, maybe. Maybe I am no

longer a part of this world.

Clichs. 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 want to force

my friendship on you.

But I'm calling today and

having them install a telephone.

Sno-cones!

Get your sno-cones!

Five-cent sno-cones!

Sno-cones!

Get your sno-cones!

Five-cent sno-cones!

[Fading]

- [Coughing] Ohh.

- 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.

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