Apt Pupil Page #13

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Dussander's studies Todd for a moment. Although Todd appears

calm, his tone reflects a somber, business-like attitude.

DUSSANDER:

I see.

(sits at table)

What seems to be the trouble?

Todd sets his grade card and the envelope on the table.

Dussander picks up the grade card and examines it.

DUSSANDER:

Quarterly Progress Report.

(he reads silently)

You seem to have fallen on the rocks, my boy.

One B, three C's and a D. Hardly the work of

a "National Merit Scholar," or whatever you

call yourself.

TODD:

This isn't a joke, Dussander. I can't blame

this on teachers or honors classes anymore.

DUSSANDER:

Looks like you have a problem then.

TODD:

I have a problem? You still don't get it.

I'm out of excuses. Do you know what's going

to happen when my dad sees that? He's going

to hit the f***ing roof. He'll get it all

out of me. The truth, you...everything.

DUSSANDER:

Boy, it's not my fault your grades have

fallen.

TODD:

Don't be so sure.

Dussander throws Todd a dismissive wave. He gets up to get a drink

DUSSANDER:

Please, you don't spend that much time here.

I hardly think--

TODD:

(quickly, as if confessing something)

I can't study anymore.

Pause. Dussander looks at him oddly, a bit surprised. But then

opens the cabinet and pulls out a glass, allowing Todd to continue.

TODD:

(with difficulty)

I try. But it's... different now. I sit in

front of my books and start thinking about...

about corpses, and electrified fences and

people getting strangled with piano wire.

All that crap you tell me. The next thing I

know it's after midnight. I sit in class

like a zombie, ...useless. But that's not

the half of it. Check out the letter.

Dussander goes back to the table and picks up the envelope. He

opens it.

DUSSANDER:

(reading letter)

'Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bowden, this note is to

suggest that we have a group conference

concerning Todd's first semester grades. In

light of his previous good work in this

school, the sudden deterioration in his

grades suggest a specific problem which

should be addressed before his academic

advancement is jeopardized permanently. Such

a problem can often be solved by a frank and

open discussion. I am ready to work out a

time for us to meet. In a case such as this,

earlier is usually better. Sincerely yours,

Edward French.' Who is this Edward French,

the headmaster?

TODD:

French? F*** no. He's a stupid guidance

counselor.

DUSSANDER:

Guidance counselor? What is that?

TODD:

He guides and he counsels. You read the

f***ing note. Do you realize I could have to

go to summer school? Me, in there with all

those f***-ups. I do not want to go to

summer school.

DUSSANDER:

Or to the reformatory.

TODD:

What did you say?

DUSSANDER:

Boy, ...you have a far greater problem than

your school grades. Before you speak to me

about what they will "get out of you",

remember the facts. ...Seventy thousand

people died at Patin. Have you forgotten

that? To the world at large I am the most

despicable of criminals, a monster. Do you

think I would stand aside and let you turn me

in so easily? Without a fight? Is your

American self-confidence so bloated that you

have never once realized you are an accessory

to my crimes. You have criminal knowledge of

an illegal alien, and have not reported it.

Don't you see that? And if I'm caught, I

will tell the world all about you. When the

reporters put their microphones in my face it

will be your name I'll repeat over and over

again. Todd Bowden, yes that's his name.

How long?... oh, for months, almost a year.

He wanted to know everything... That's how

he put it, yes - everything.

TODD:

They'd never believe you.

DUSSANDER:

Perhaps, perhaps not. It's a gamble. How

would you explain all those books you were

reading to me? My eyes are not what they

were but I can still read fine print. I can

prove it.

TODD:

So what? I'd say you tricked me.

DUSSANDER:

Why would I do that?

TODD:

For friendship, because you're lonely and had

no one in your life. No jury would take your

word over mine. A Nazi? Forget it. Just

get it out of your head. You can't threaten

me and you can't scare me. What you can do

is find me a pencil.

DUSSANDER:

A pencil, what for?

Todd sets the small paper bag on the table. Dussander opens it

and removes a small bottle. The label reads: "ink eradicator."

He also removes an x-acto knife and a few sheets of rub-off

letters.

TODD:

That will take care of the report card, I

think. About that f***ing letter, I don't

know.

Todd sits down at the table. He takes the bottle from Dussander

and examines the report card.

TODD (CONT'D)

F***... come on, a pencil. A sharp one.

With an eraser.

Dussander pauses. He knows Todd is right. Slowly, he goes to

the counter and opens a drawer. He rummages through it as Todd

sits with his back to him. Dussander picks out a pencil with an

extremely sharp point. He holds it point out and approaches

Todd. He gets closer, the point moves in toward the back of

Todd's head. He holds the point inches from the boy's neck. He

deliberates.

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