The Man Who Wasn't There Page #18

The piano music ends in a sustain which begins to fade, but

then is snapped by a sharp clang.

PRISON DOOR SWINGS OPEN

We are pushing into the high-windowed prison meeting room.

None of its three occupants is moving.

The tableau consists of Doris staring down at the table; the

private investigator sitting on a straightbacked chair tipped

back against a wall, his arms folded across his chest, his

fedora pushed back on his head, a toothpick clamped between

his teeth; and Freddy Riedenschneider, standing, hands clasped

behind his back, gazing with a distant smile up into the

shaft of light that slants through the high window.

A warder shuts the door behind Ed.

Doris and the private investigator turn to note his entrance;

Riedenschneider does not.

Ed pulls out a chair across from Doris, clasps his hands on

top of hers.

ED:

'Lo, honey.

She looks at his hands on top of hers.

A long beat.

Still gazing up into the shaft of light, Freddy

Riedenschneider announces:

RIEDENSCHNEIDER:

...They got this guy, in Germany.

Fritz something-or-other. Or is it.

Maybe it's Werner. Anyway, he's got

this theory, you wanna test something,

you know, scientifically--how the

planets go round the sun, what

sunspots are made of, why the water

comes out of the tap--well, you gotta

look at it. But sometimes, you look

at it, your looking *changes* it. Ya

can't know the reality of what

happened, or what *would've* happened

if you hadden a stuck in your goddamn

schnozz. So there *is* no 'what

happened.' Not in any sense that we

can grasp with our puny minds. Because

our minds... out minds get in the

way. Looking at something changes

it. They call it the 'Uncertainty

Principle.' Sure, it sounds screwy,

but even Einstein says the guy's on

to something.

His gaze up at the window breaks. He strolls around the room,

still smiling.

RIEDENSCHNEIDER:

...Science. Perception. Reality.

Doubt...

He stops to examine a bur on his fingernail.

RIEDENSCHNEIDER:

...Reasonable doubt. I'm sayin',

sometimes, the more you look, the

less you really know. It's a fact. A

proved fact. In a way, it's the only

fact there is. This heinie even wrote

it out in numbers.

He looks up at the private detective.

RIEDENSCHNEIDER:

...Burns?

With a slight weight shift, Burns tips his chair so that its

front legs slap down onto the floor. He fishes a small

notebook from an inside pocket.

His boredom is profound; his only concession to performance

is to move the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the

other where, perhaps, it will less inhibit speech.

BURNS:

Subject:
David Allen Brewster. Born:

Cincinnati, 1911. Father: insurance

salesman; mother: homemaker. One

year Case Western University on

football scholarship. Flunks out.

1931:
retail appliance salesman in

Barnhoff's department store,

Cincinnati. 1933: meets Ann

Nirdlinger, married later that year,

moves here. 1935: arrested on an

assault complaint; complainant, an

organizer for the ILGWU, has a broken

nose, couple of ribs, wife's family

intercedes, some kind of settlement,

charges dropped. 1936: another assault

beef, bar altercation--

RIEDENSCHNEIDER:

Yeah, yeah, couple of fistfights. Go

to his service record.

Burns looks at him sourly. He flips a couple of pages.

BURNS:

...Inducted March 15, 1942, assigned

to fifth fleet US Navy, petty officer

first class, serves in clerical

capacity in US naval shipyards in

San Diego, one fistfight broken up

by MPs, no court martial, honorable

discharge May 8, 1945. Since then

he's been clean.

Riedenschneider nods, smiling.

RIEDENSCHNEIDER:

...Thank you, Burns, get lost.

Burns pockets his notebook, adjusts his hat, jams his hands

into his pockets, and ambles out of the room.

The slam of the door leaves quiet.

At length:

ED:

...So?

Riedenschneider's fixed smile now fades.

RIEDENSCHNEIDER:

So? *So?!* This could be your dolly's

ticket out of the deathhouse, so!

Ed and Doris look at each other.

ED:

...I don't get it.

RIEDENSCHNEIDER:

Look, chum, this is a guy, from what

I understand, told everybody he was

a war hero, right? Island hopping,

practically liberated the Pacific

all by himself with a knife in one

hand and a gun in the other and twenty

yards of Jap guts between his teeth.

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