Schindler's List Page #7

INT. FACTORY FLOOR - DAY

Flames ignite with a whoosh in one of the huge furnaces. The

needle on a gauge slowly climbs.

EXT. CRACOW - DAY

A garage door slides open revealing a gleaming black Mercedes.

Schindler steps past Pfefferberg and, moving around the car,

carefully touches its smooth lines.

INT. FACTORY - DAY

Another machine starts up. Another. Another.

EXT. PEACE SQUARE - DAY

Stern with a woman at the head of a line. The clerk affixes

the all-important blue sticker to her work card.

INT. FACTORY DAY - DAY

Three hundred Jewish laborers, men and women, work at the

long tables, at the presses, the latches, the furnaces,

turning out field kitchenware and mess kits.

Few glance up from their work at Schindler, the big gold

party pin stuck into his lapel, as he moves through the place,

his place, his factory, in full operation.

He climbs the stairs to the offices where several secretaries

process Armaments orders. He gestures to Stern, at a desk

covered with ledgers, to join him in his office.

INT. SCHINDLER'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS - DAY

The accountant follows Schindler into the office.

SCHINDLER:

Sit down.

Schindler goes to the wall of windows, his favorite place in

the world, and looks down at all the activity below. He pours

two drinks from a decanter and, turning back, holds one out

to Stern. Stern, of course, declines. Schinder groans.

SCHINDLER:

Oh, come on.

He comes over and puts the drink in Stern's hand, moves behind

his desk and sits.

SCHINDLER:

My father was fond of saying you

need three things in life. A good

doctor, a forgiving priest and a

clever accountant. The first two...

He dismisses them with a shrug; he's never had much use for

either. But the third -- he raises his glass to the

accountant. Stern's glass stays in his lap.

SCHINDLER:

(long sufferingly)

Just pretend for Christ's sake.

Stern slowly raises his glass.

SCHINDLER:

Thank you.

Schindler drinks; Stern doesn't.

INT. SCHINDLER'S APARTMENT - MORNING

Klonowska, wearing a man's silk robe, traipses past the

remains of a party to the front door. Opening it reveals a

nice looking, nicely dressed woman.

KLONOWSKA:

Yes?

A series of realizations is made by each of them, quickly,

silently, ending up with Klonowska looking ill.

SCHINDLER (O.S.)

Who is it?

INT. SCHINDLER'S APARTMENT - MORNING

Schindler sets a cup of coffee down in front of his wife.

Behind him, through a doorway, Klonowska can be seen hurriedly

gathering her things.

SCHINDLER:

She's so embarrassed -- look at her --

Emilie begrudges him a glance to the bedroom, catching the

girl just as she looks up -- embarrassed.

SCHINDLER:

You know what, you'd like her.

EMILIE:

Oskar, please --

SCHINDLER:

What --

EMILIE:

I don't have to like her just because

you do. It doesn't work that way.

SCHINDLER:

You would, though. That's what I'm

saying.

His face is complete innocence. It's the first thing she

fell in love with; and perhaps the thing that keeps her from

killing him now. Klonowska emerges from the bedroom thoroughly

self-conscious.

KLONOWSKA:

Goodbye. It was a pleasure meeting

you.

She shakes Emilie's limp hand. Schindler sees her to the

door, lets her out and returns to the table, smiling to

himself. Emilie's glancing around at the place.

EMILIE:

You've done well here.

He nods; he's proud of it. He studies her.

SCHINDLER:

You look great.

EXT. SCHINDLER'S APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT

They emerge from the building in formal clothes, both of

them looking great. It's wet and slick; the doorman offers

Emilie his arm.

DOORMAN:

Careful of the pavement --

SCHINDLER:

-- Mrs. Schindler.

The doorman shoots a glance to Schindler that asks, clearly,

Really? Schindler opens the passenger door of the Mercedes

for his wife, and the doorman helps her in.

INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT

A nice place. "No Jews or Dogs Allowed." The maitre 'd

welcomes the couple warmly, shakes Schindler's hand. Nodding

to his date --

SCHINDLER:

Mrs. Schindler.

The maitre 'd tries to bury his surprise. He's almost

successful.

INT. RESTAURANT - LATER - NIGHT

No fewer than four waiters attend them -- refilling a glass,

sliding pastries onto china, lighting Schindler's cigarette,

raking crumbs from the table with little combs.

EMILIE:

It's not a charade, all this?

SCHINDLER:

A charade? How could it be a charade?

She doesn't know, but she does know him. And all these signs

of apparent success just don't fit his profile. Schindler

lets her in on a discovery.

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