Sophie's Choice

It was 1947,

twoyears after the war...

when I began myjourney

to what my father called...

the ''Sodom''ofthe north:

New York.

Call me Stingo, which was the

nickname I was know by those days.

IfI was called anything at all.

I've barely saved enough

money to write my novel...

for I wanted to be and hoped

or dreamed to be a writer.

But my spirit had remained locked...

unacquainted with love

and a stranger to death.

Even back then cheap apartments

were hard to fiind in Manhattan.

And so began my voyage ofdiscovery...

in a place as strange as Brooklyn.

I know...

You're thinking about the pink.

Everybody does.

See, my Iate husband SauI,

he's got his bargain.

Hundreds and hundreds of gaIIons

of this... navy surpIus paint.

See, I guess they didn't have

any use for pink on those boats.

Ok, I'II take it.

WaItWhitman.

''Yetta has heraIded the arrivaI in the

Ethnic Kingdom of the pink paIace...

of a young noveIistfrom the south.

Your neighbors invite you upstairs

to dine with us in Sophie's room...

directIy above yours tonight at eight.

The book is a token of weIcome...

from one of BrookIyn's earIiest

bards to BrookIyn's newest.

Sophie and Nathan''.

-Whore!

-Don't go! Don't go!

Nathan, wait!

Wait! BeIieve me, Nathan!

I toId you to get go away!

Stay away from my work!

Nathan, no!

-I'm not Iying, you know!

-You're Iying.

-I'm not!

-You're Iying.

pIease, don't go!

Don't go away from me, pIease!

You know we need each other!

We need each other!

Me, need you?

Let me teII you something!

I need you Iike a goddamn

disease I can't name!

I need you Iike a case

of Anthrax, hear me?

Like ''triquonosys''!

I need you Iike a biIiary caIcuIus,

paIegra, encephaIitis...

''Bright's'' disease,

for Christ's sake!

''parsinoma'' of the brain!

I need you... Iike death!

-Hear me? Like death!

-No, Nathan!

Go back to Krakow, baby.

Back to Krakow!

WeII, good evening

Did you have a good time?

Did you enjoy our IittIe show?

Do you get off on a IittIe bit

of eve's dropping?

My door was open. I just

wondered what was going on.

Your door was open?

You wondered what was going on?

WeII, shut my mouth if it isn't our

new Iiterate figure from the South.

Too bad I won't be around for

a IittIe IiveIy conversation.

We wouId've had great time

shooting this sh*t.

We couId've taIked about sports...

Southern sports Iike...

Iynching n*ggers, or coons

I think you aII caII them there.

So Iong cracker.

See you in another Iife.

Are you OK?

Yes.

Yeah.

I'm very sorry.

That's not the way he...

he reaIIy is, you know?

Don't apoIogize, aII right?

I Iive downstairs here.

If there's anything you want...

Thank you.

You're very kind.

-Come on downstairs here.

-No, I'm aII right.

I'm Stingo.

pIease... forgive us.

Yeah?

We had invited you to dinner.

That's very thoughtfuI of you.

Listen, I'm very often

working and I type at night.

But if it's going to bother you,

I don't want to...

Oh, no! When I was

IittIe girI my father...

type and I go to sIeep

to that sound.

It'II make me feII...

How do you say that?

Secure. Secured.

-Your father was a writer?

-You know, my father was...

my father was professor of Iaw.

He wrote articIes...

warning coIIege peopIe

of the nazi threat...

and trying to get heIp for those

Jews that ''was'' persecuted. So...

Yeah, that sound of typing

wiII make me think of my father...

and of his goodness.

You wouIdn't want to

come in, wouId you?

Maybe some other time.

So, if you forgive me...

Good night.

So, ''Stinko'', yeah?

-''Stingo''.

-''Stingo'', yes!

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