Apt Pupil Page #4

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TODD:

Maybe I will... Mom thinks I'd be good at it.

INT. DUSSANDER'S KITCHEN - DAY

He reaches the doorway just as Dussander turns around with the drinks.

TODD:

I found fourteen compares.

Dussander approaches him carrying a tumbler of milk and a glass

of bourbon. He hands the tumbler to Todd, who brings it up to

his lips and hesitates.

TODD (CONT'D)

You have some.

DUSSANDER:

Good Gott.

He snatches the cup and swallows twice.

DUSSANDER (CONT'D)

You see? It's milk, boy. From Dairylee

Farms. On the carton is a picture of a

smiling cow.

Todd pauses and then begins to drink.

DUSSANDER (CONT'D)

(more to himself than Todd)

...And two missing children.

(pause)

Boy what you have done, I have to explain

this to you because clearly you don't

understand, what you have done is a

violation.

TODD:

A violation?

DUSSANDER:

Yes.

TODD:

Kind of like those experiments with the

decompression chamber. Now, that was a

violation, Dussander.

DUSSANDER:

That f***ing name. Enough of that. I demand

it.

TODD:

You what?

DUSSANDER:

I demand --

TODD:

You demand nothing from me. Ever. Get it?

Pause.

DUSSANDER:

Boy, I will tell you this once more, and for

the last time. My name is Arthur Denker. It

has never been anything else. It has never

even been Americanized. If you must know,

and apparently you must, I was named by my

father who greatly admired the stories of

Arthur Conan Doyle. I did serve in the

reserves, I admit, and in the late thirties,

when I was first married, I supported Hitler.

I supported him most, I suppose, because for

the first time in years there was work and

there was tobacco. ...Would you like a

cigarette?

TODD:

No. My dad used to smoke. Mom made him

quit. Now he's addicted to Nicorette...

that's nicotine gum.

Dussander turns toward the counter and pulls a kitchen match

from a cabinet. He lights his cigarette with his back to Todd.

DUSSANDER:

Nicotine gum.

Dussander's eyes drift to the collection of kitchen knives

neatly stuffed in their block on the counter in front of him.

He lingers a moment, pulls deeply on the cigarette, then turns

and continues.

DUSSANDER (CONT'D)

Anyway, Hitler lost his mind at the end,

directing phantom armies at the whim of his

astrologer. He even gave his dog, Blondi, a

death capsule. On May 2nd, 1945, my regiment

surrendered to the Americans. I remember

that a private named Gonzales gave me a

chocolate bar. I wept.

Bored, Todd sinks into a chair at the table.

DUSSANDER (CONT'D)

I was interned at Essen where I was treated

very well. We listened to the Nuremberg

trials on the radio and when Goering

committed suicide, I bought half a bottle of

schnaps and got drunk. When I was released,

I put wheels on cars at the Essen Motor Works

until I retired in 1963. In 1967 I emigrated

here, to California, and became a U.S.

Citizen. I am as American as you are. I

vote. No Buenos Aires, no Berlin, no koo-ba.

And that's it, my whole story. I hope you're

satisfied. But if not, it's, as you say,

tough sh*t for you. Now, you go. Enough of

this.

Dussander points to the door, but Todd remains motionless in his

chair.

TODD:

That was pretty good. So much to remember.

But I guess it helps when you have forty

years to practice your story.

DUSSANDER:

Oh, to hell with this and to hell with you.

I'm calling the police. Your father is

going to beat your behind when he picks you

up at the police station.

TODD:

No. My parents don't believe in violence.

DUSSANDER:

Well, they should start. I'm calling.

Dussander steps past Todd and picks up the receiver of the phone

hanging on the wall above the table. The boy still sits

motionless behind him. Dussander dials a "9", and then, with

more difficulty, a "1". He stands with his finger poised over

the final "1". Tiny beads of sweat roll over his forehead. His

shoulders drop. Todd stands up. Their faces are close

together.

TODD:

Hang up the phone.

DUSSANDER:

This is unforgivable. Do you know the things

you're accusing me of?

TODD:

Do it.

Slowly, Dussander brings the receiver down onto its hook.

DUSSANDER:

If you don't want money, what do you want?

TODD:

I want to hear about it.

DUSSANDER:

Hear about what?

TODD:

The camps. Everything. The experiments. The

examinations. All the stuff the writers are

scared to put in their books because people

will think they're sick. That's what I want,

...everything.

DUSSANDER:

Everything?

TODD:

Exactly. And you're going to tell it to me.

DUSSANDER:

You're a monster.

TODD:

According to history you're the monster.

DUSSANDER:

How could you ask me to remember such things?

I can barely remember to take my heart

medicine.

TODD:

You were there. You did those things. No

one can tell it better than you can. And you

will tell it, starting today. Right now. If

you don't, I'll tell everyone who you are. I

swear it.

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