Apt Pupil Page #6

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DUSSANDER:

In railroad cars marked "Medical Supplies."

It came in long crates that looked like coffins.

TODD:

That's fitting. Was it always Zyklon-B?

The cat jumps into Dussander's lap again. He throws it down,

this time harder.

DUSSANDER:

No, from time to time we would be sent

something else. Experimental gases. The

High Command was always interested in

improving efficiency. Once they sent us a

gas code-named "Pegasus." A nerve gas.

Thank God they never sent it again. It...

Todd sits up a little, leaning in.

TODD:

It what?

DUSSANDER:

It didn't work very well. It was quite boring.

TODD:

Bullshit. You're lying. What did it do?

DUSSANDER:

It killed them. What do you think it did,

made them walk on water? It killed them.

The cat jumps up a third time. This time Dussander picks it up

and tosses it a good six feet. The animal hits the ground and runs away.

TODD:

Tell me.

(slurps on his Coke)

Tell me.

DUSSANDER:

I won't. I refuse. Where are my cigarettes?

He finds the pack and fumbles a cigarette to his lips. He

lights it. Todd watches calmly, giving the old man a moment to

collect himself, and then...

TODD:

What did it do?

DUSSANDER:

It made them dance.

TODD:

Dance?

DUSSANDER:

Like Zyklon-B, it came in through the shower

heads. After a few seconds the prisoners

began to leap about. Some were screaming.

Most of them were laughing. They began to

vomit and to... to defecate helplessly.

TODD:

You mean they... they... sh*t themselves?

...Woah.

But Dussander ignores him, staring out into the yard as he

begins to remember more easily.

DUSSANDER:

They began to twitch all over and make high,

strange sounds in their throats. At last

they collapsed and just lay there on the

concrete, twitching and yodeling, with blood

streaming from their noses. But I lied to

you, boy. It didn't kill them. Either

because it wasn't strong enough or because we

couldn't bring ourselves to wait that long.

I suppose it was that. I sent five men in

with rifles to end their agonies. These were

five men I trusted. It would have looked bad

on my record to have wasted so many

cartridges at a time when the Fuehrer had

declared every cartridge a national resource.

I was always given high marks for efficiency.

TODD:

Yeah, I bet.

Dussander looks down at the remains of the meal in his lap. As

if his own story has suddenly disgusted him, he balls the food

up in its wrapper and shoves it into the paper bag.

DUSSANDER:

How do you eat this crap everyday?

TODD:

Why didn't you just do the job yourself? You

carried a gun, didn't you?

DUSSANDER:

(incredulous)

I was the commandant of the camp.

TODD:

So you never killed anybody?

DUSSANDER:

(getting frustrated)

The entire world was at war, boy. People died.

TODD:

That's not a real answer. I'm asking about

you.

DUSSANDER:

Boy, I was a soldier in a position of power.

You don't get to be there by selling ...girl

scout's cookies.

TODD:

I know what the SS was, Dussander. Who are

you talking to? It was a bunch of dumb, rich

kids who bought their way into the service so

they wouldn't have to go fight on the front.

Dussander stares at Todd, wanting to say something. Todd

shovels a few more fries into his mouth, then looks up and sees

Dussander eyeing him.

DUSSANDER:

That's enough for today, boy. I beg you.

I'm tired.

TODD:

Yeah, fine. That was good story though. You

always tell them good, once I get you started.

ANGLE on Dussander.

DUSSANDER'S DREAM #1: EXT. OPEN FIELD - DAY

Dussander is asleep in his bed. A low groaning sound comes in

very slowly. Dussander's eyes open. He sits up, looks around,

sees that his bed is in the middle of a large open field. It is

grassy, but certainly not beautiful. Something is wrong about

this place.

He stands out of the bed, wearing pajamas. But it is cold. He

takes the sheet and wraps himself in it. The groaning is

getting louder, more human. We have never seen him frightened,

until now. He steps a few paces from the bed. The groans have

becomes low screams. There is no where to go. Slowly, as if he

knows what he's going to see, he looks down at the ground. It's

just grass. But the human voices are now wailing desperately.

His knees buckle, but he tries to fight it. He reaches his

knees and lowers his head toward the ground. The white sheet

flows around him and blows off in a gust of wind. The screams

are now at a feverish pitch. His ear is inches from the grass

and his eyes, marked with unmistakable terror, are wide open

as...

INT. DUSSANDER'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Dussander bolts upright in his bed.

EXT. OUTDOOR SHOOTING RANGE - DAY

RICHARD (DICK) BOWDEN, 38, is a taller, grayer version of his

son. He stands over Todd's shoulder watching him shoot at a

paper target. He still has on a tie from work, but the knot has

been loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up. Both Dick and

Todd wear headphones and orange shooting glasses. Dick chews

gum. They are alone on the range.

Todd fires a few rounds from his father's .30-.30. A strained

tension exists between the two Bowdens.

DICK:

You're tight. Don't hold your breath so long.

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