The Pianist Page #30

His excitement grows and he walks out into the street.

He sees at one end soldiers serving soup from afield kitchen

to a group of people.

On the opposite side of the street, he sees a man and a

woman who have left the field kitchen. The man carries a

two-tiered canister.

Szpilman rushes towards them, grabs hold of the man and

tries to kiss him. The man, totally bewildered, tries to

fight him off. The woman is terrified.

THE WOMAN:

German! German!

She runs, yelling, towards the field kitchen. So does the

man.

Szpilman stands and stares, then sees one of the soldiers

cock his rifle and fire at him.

Szpilman runs, the firing continuing.

EXT. RUINS - DAY

Szpilman bolts into the doorway of a ruined building. He

peers out to see Polish soldiers beginning to surround the

ruined building, firing shots, lobbing in a grenade or

two.

SZPILMAN:

(shouting)

Stop, for God's sake, I beg you,

I'm Polish!

More shots and another grenade explosion.

SZPILMAN:

Don't shoot! I'm Polish!

The Polish soldiers: Two of the officers stand near the

entrance, hearing Szpilman's shouts.

1ST POLISH OFFICER

He's Polish!

2ND POLISH OFFICER

(yelling)

Come out with your hands up.

SZPILMAN:

(obeying)

Don't shoot! I'm Polish! Please,

please! I'm Polish!

1ST POLISH OFFICER

Yes, he's Polish!

2ND POLISH OFFICER

(as Szpilman

approaches')

Why the f***ing coat?

SZPILMAN:

I'm cold.

The Polish officers confer briefly in whispers. Then:

2ND POLISH OFFICER

Take him to headquarters.

And they march him off.

EXT. LONG COUNTRY LANE AND HOLDING CAMP - DAY

Spring. Idyllic.

A column of men and women stretching along the length of

the lane. A couple of horse-and-carts. One or two bicycles.

Some of the people wear concentration camp garb, others in

tattered clothing.

Four men walk together and when they come to a narrow

junction, stop, seeing something

Behind barbed wire, German prisoners of war, guarded by

Russian soldiers. Desolate place. No shelters, no tents.

The POWs sit or lie on the ground, silent, broken,

shattered.

The four men gaze at them. :

1ST MAN

Look at them - bastards!

2ND MAN

German f***ers!

3RD MAN

I prayed for this, never thought

I'd see it.

The fourth man, ZYGMUNT LEDNICKI, approaches the barbed

wire.

LEDNICKI:

Murderers! Assassins! Look at you

now! You took everything I had!

Me, a musician!

(wagging his finger

fiercely)

You took my violin! You took my

soul!

He stands glowering at them, then sees a POW rise from a

group, wretched, shabby, unshaven. It's the German Captain,

uniform tattered, a wreck. He comes to the barbed wire.

THE GERMAN CAPTAIN

(urgent) (in German)

Do you happen to know another

musician, a Mr Szpilman? A pianist!

Polish radio?

LEDNICKI:

Yes, of course, I know Szpilman.

THE GERMAN CAPTAIN

(desperate)

I helped Mr Szpilman when he was

in hiding. Tell him I'm here. Ask

him to help me...

A RUSSIAN GUARD, inside the compound, approaches, grabs

hold of the German Captain.

RUSSIAN GUARD:

(to Lednicki, in

Russian)

Hey! No talking to the prisoners.

Get away from there!

He drags the German Captain away from the wire.

LEDNICKI:

(as he backs away,

calling)

What's your name?

The German Captain is being bundled away by the guard, who

aims a kick at him. The German Captain shouts out his name

but it's unintelligible.

LEDNICKI:

What?

The German Captain and the guard have disappeared. Lednicki

stands for a moment, then turns and goes.

INT. STUDIO, WARSAW RADIO STATION - DAY

Szpilman playing the piano. He looks something like his

former self, fairly well dressed and groomed.

He glances towards the glass booth and sees Lednicki with

the technicians. He smiles. Lednicki nods, smiles back.

EXT. SITE OF POW CAMP - DAY

Szpilman and Lednicki looking around an empty field.

LEDNICKI:

It was here, I'm certain of it.

SZPILMAN:

It's not here now.

LEDNICKI:

I shouted abuse at them, I'm not

proud of it, but that's what I

did, and, I'm certain, I stood

where you are now. There was barbed

wire, and this German came up to

me.

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