Schindler's List Page #2

Here, closer, at this table across the room, an SS officer

gestures to one of the SS men who an hour ago couldn't get

the girl to sit at his table. The guy comes over.

SS OFFICER 1

Who is that?

SS OFFICER 2

(like everyone knows)

That's Oskar Schindler. He's an old

friend of... I don't know, somebody's.

GIRL WITH A BIG CAMERA

screws in a flashbulb. She lifts the unwieldy thing to her

face and focuses.

As the bulb flashes, the noise of the club suddenly drops

out, and the moment is caught in BLACK and WHITE: Oskar

Schindler, surrounded by his many new friends, smiling

urbanely.

EXT. SQUARE - CRACOW - DAY

A photograph of a face on a work card, BLACK and WHITE. A

typed name, black and white. A hand affixes a sticker to the

card and it saturates with COLOR, DEEP BLUE.

People in long lines, waiting. Others near idling trucks,

waiting. Others against sides of buildings, waiting. Clerks

with clipboards move through the crowds, calling out names.

CLERKS:

Groder... Gemeinerowa... Libeskind...

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - CRACOW - DAY

The party pin in his lapel catches the light in the hallway.

SCHINDLER:

Stern?

Behind Schindler, the door to another apartment closes softly.

A radio, somewhere, is suddenly silenced.

SCHINDLER:

Are you Itzhak Stern?

At the door of this apartment, a man with the face and manner

of a Talmudic scholar, finally nods in resignation, like his

number has just come up.

STERN:

I am.

Schindler offers a hand. Confused, Stern tentatively reaches

for it, and finds his own grasped firmly.

INT. STERN'S APARTMENT - DAY

Settled into an overstuffed chair in a simple apartment,

Schindler pours a shot of cognac from a flask.

SCHINDLER:

There's a company you did the books

for on Lipowa Street, made what,

pots and pans?

Stern stares at the cognac Schindler's offering him. He

doesn't know who this man is, or what he wants.

STERN:

(pause)

By law, I have to tell you, sir, I'm

a Jew.

Schindler looks puzzled, then shrugs, dismissing it.

SCHINDLER:

All right, you've done it -- good

company, you think?

He keeps holding out the drink. Stern declines it with a

slow shake of his head.

STERN:

It did all right.

Schindler nods, takes out a cigarette case.

SCHINDLER:

I don't know anything about

enamelware, do you?

He offers Stern a cigarette. Stern declines again.

STERN:

I was just the accountant.

SCHINDLER:

Simple engineering, though, wouldn't

you think? Change the machines around,

whatever you do, you could make other

things, couldn't you?

Schindler lowers his voice as if there could possibly be

someone else listening in somewhere.

SCHINDLER:

Field kits, mess kits...

He waits for a reaction, and misinterprets Stern's silence

for a lack of understanding.

SCHINDLER:

Army contracts.

But Stern does understand. He understands too well.

Schindler grins good-naturedly.

SCHINDLER:

Once the war ends, forget it, but

for now it's great, you could make a

fortune. Don't you think?

STERN:

(with an edge)

I think most people right now have

other priorities.

Schindler tries for a moment to imagine what they could

possibly be. He can't.

SCHINDLER:

Like what?

Stern smiles despite himself. The man's manner is so simple,

so in contrast to his own and the complexities of being a

Jew in occupied Cracow in 1939. He really doesn't know. Stern

decides to end the conversation.

STERN:

Get the contracts and I'm sure you'll

do very well. In fact the worse things

get the better you'll do. It was a

"pleasure."

SCHINDLER:

The contracts? That's the easy part.

Finding the money to buy the company,

that's hard.

He laughs loudly, uproariously. But then, just as abruptly

as the laugh erupted, he's dead serious, all kidding aside --

SCHINDLER:

You know anybody?

Stern stares at him curiously, sitting there taking another

sip of his cognac, placid as a large dog.

SCHINDLER:

Jews, yeah. Investors.

STERN:

(pause)

Jews can no longer own businesses,

sir, that's why this one's for sale.

SCHINDLER:

Well, they wouldn't own it, I'd own

it. I'd pay them back in product.

They can trade it on the black market,

do whatever they want, everybody's

happy.

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