"SCHINDLER'S LIST"

BY

Steven Zaillian

Final Draft



IN BLACK AND WHITE:

TRAIN WHEELS grinding against track, slowing. FOLDING TABLE
LEGS scissoring open. The LEVER of a train door being pulled.
NAMES on lists on clipboards held by clerks moving alongside
the tracks.

CLERKS (V.O.)
...Rossen... Lieberman... Wachsberg...

BEWILDERED RURAL FACES coming down off the passenger train.

FORMS being set out on the folding tables. HANDS straightening
pens and pencils and ink pads and stamps.

CLERKS (V.O.)
...When your name is called go over
there... take this over to that
table...

TYPEWRITER KEYS rapping a name onto a list. A FACE. KEYS
typing another name. Another FACE.

CLERKS (V.O.)
...you’re in the wrong line, wait
over there... you, come over here...

A MAN is taken from one long line and led to the back of
another. A HAND hammers a rubber stamp at a form. Tight on a
FACE. KEYS type another NAME. Another FACE. Another NAME.

CLERKS (V.O.)
...Biberman... Steinberg...
Chilowitz...

As a hand comes down stamping a GRAY STRIPE across a
registration card, there is absolute silence... then MUSIC,
the Hungarian love song, "Gloomy Sunday," distant... and the
stripe bleeds into COLOR, into BRIGHT YELLOW INK.

INT. HOTEL ROOM - CRACOW, POLAND - NIGHT

The song plays from a radio on a rust-stained sink.

The light in the room is dismal, the furniture cheap. The
curtains are faded, the wallpaper peeling... but the clothes
laid out across the single bed are beautiful.

The hands of a man button the shirt, belt the slacks. He
slips into the double-breasted jacket, knots the silk tie,
folds a handkerchief and tucks it into the jacket pocket,
all with great deliberation.

A bureau. Some currency, cigarettes, liquor, passport. And
an elaborate gold-on-black enamel Hakenkreuz (or swastika)
which the gentleman pins to the lapel of his elegant dinner
jacket.

He steps back to consider his reflection in the mirror. He
likes what he sees: Oskar Schindler -- salesman from Zwittau --
looking almost reputable in his one nice suit.

Even in this awful room.

INT. NIGHTCLUB - CRACOW, POLAND - NIGHT

A spotlight slicing across a crowded smoke-choked club to a
small stage where a cabaret performer sings.

It’s September, 1939. General Sigmund List's armored
divisions, driving north from the Sudetenland, have taken
Cracow, and now, in this club, drinking, socializing,
conducting business, is a strange clientele: SS officers and
Polish cops, gangsters and girls and entrepreneurs, thrown
together by the circumstance of war.

Oskar Schindler, drinking alone, slowly scans the room, the
faces, stripping away all that’s unimportant to him, settling
only on details that are: the rank of this man, the higher
rank of that one, money being slipped into a hand.

WAITER SETS DOWN DRINKS

in front of the SS officer who took the money. A lieutenant,
he’s at a table with his girlfriend and a lower-ranking
officer.

WAITER
From the gentleman.

The waiter is gesturing to a table across the room where
Schindler, seemingly unaware of the SS men, drinks with the
best-looking woman in the place.

LIEUTENANT
Do I know him?

His sergeant doesn’t. His girlfriend doesn't.

LIEUTENANT
Find out who he is.

The sergeant makes his way over to Schindler's table.

There's a handshake and introductions before -- and the
lieutenant, watching, can't believe it -- his guy accepts
the chair Schindler's dragging over.

The lieutenant waits, but his man doesn't come back; he's
forgotten already he went there for a reason. Finally, and
it irritates the SS man, he has to get up and go over there.

LIEUTENANT
Stay here.

His girlfriend watches him cross toward Schindler's table.

Before he even arrives, Schindler is up and berating him for
leaving his date way over there across the room, waving at
the girl to come join them, motioning to waiter to slide
some tables together.

WAITERS ARRIVE WITH PLATES OF CAVIAR

and another round of drinks. The lieutenant makes a
halfhearted move for his wallet.

LIEUTENANT
Let me get this one.

SCHINDLER
No, put it away, put it away.

Schindler's already got his money out. Even as he's paying,
his eyes are working the room, settling on a table where a
girl is declining the advances of two more high-ranking SS
men.

A TABLECLOTH BILLOWS

as a waiter lays it down on another table that's been added
to the others. Schindler seats the SS officers on either
side of his own "date" --

SCHINDLER
What are you drinking, gin?

He motions to a waiter to refill the men's drinks, and,
returning to the head of the table(s), sweeps the room again
with his eyes.

ROAR OF LAUGHTER

erupts from Schindler's party in the corner. Nobody's having
a better time than those people over there. His guests have
swelled to ten or twelve -- SS men, Polish cops, girls --
and he moves among them like the great entertainer he is,
making sure everybody's got enough to eat and drink.

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.

He shrugs; it sounds more than fair to him. But not to Stern.

STERN
Pots and pans.

SCHINDLER
(nodding)
Something they can hold in their
hands.

Stern studies him. This man is nothing more than a salesman
with a salesman's pitch; just dressed better than most.

STERN
I don't know anybody who'd be
interested in that.

SCHINDLER
(a slow knowing nod)
They should be.

Silence.

EXT. CRACOW - NIGHT

A mason trowels mortar onto a brick. As he taps it into a
place and scrapes off the excess cement, the image DRAINS OF
COLOR.

Under lights, a crew of brick-layers is erecting a ten-foot
wall where a street once ran unimpeded.

EXT. STREET - CRACOW - DAY

A young man emerges from an alley pocketing his Jewish
armband. He crosses a street past German soldiers and trucks
and climbs the steps of St. Mary's cathedral.

INT. ST. MARY'S CATHEDRAL - DAY

A dark and cavernous place. A priest performing Mass to
scattered parishioners. Lots of empty pews.

The young Polish Jew from the street, Poldek Pfefferberg,
kneels, crosses himself, and slides in next to another young
man, Goldberg, going over notes scribbled on a little pad
inside a missal. Pfefferberg shows him a container of shoe
polish he takes from his pocket. Whispered, bored --

GOLDBERG
What's that?

PFEFFERBERG
You don't recognize it? Maybe that's
because it's not what I asked for.

GOLDBERG
You asked for shoe polish.

PFEFFERBERG
My buyers sold it to a guy who sold
it to the Army. But by the time it
got there -- because of the cold --
it broke, the whole truckload.

GOLDBERG
(pause)
So I'm responsible for the weather?

PFEFFERBERG
I asked for metal, you gave me glass.

GOLDBERG
This is not my problem.

PFEFFERBERG
Look it up.

Goldberg doesn't bother; he pockets his little notepad and
intones a response to the priest's prayer, all but ignoring
Pfefferberg.

PFEFFERBERG
This is not your problem? Everybody
wants to know who I got it from, and
I'm going to tell them.

Goldberg glances to Pfefferberg for the first time, and,
greatly put upon, takes out his little notepad again and
makes a notation in it.

GOLDBERG
Metal.

He flips the pad closed, pockets it, crosses himself as he
gets up, and leaves.

INT. HOTEL - DAY

Pfefferberg at the front desk of a sleepy hotel with another
black market middleman, the desk clerk. Both are wearing
their armbands. Pfefferberg underlines figures on a little
notepad of his own --

PFEFFERBERG
Let's say this is what you give me.
These are fees I have to pay some
guys. This is my commission. This is
what I bring you back in Occupation
currency.

The clerk, satisfied with the figures, is about to hand over
to Pfefferberg some outlawed Polish notes from an envelope
when Schindler comes in from the street. The clerk puts the
money away, gets Schindler his room key, waits for him to
leave so he can finish his business with Pfefferberg... but
Schindler doesn't leave; he just keeps looking over at
Pfefferberg's shirt, at the cuffs, the collar.

PFEFFERBERG
That's a nice shirt.

Pfefferberg nods, Yeah, thanks, and waits for Schindler to
leave; but he doesn't. Nor does he appear to hear the short
burst of muffled gunfire that erupts from somewhere up the
street.

SCHINDLER
You don't know where I could find a
shirt like that.

Pfefferberg knows he should say 'no,' let that be the end of
it. It's not wise doing business with a German who could
have you arrested for no reason whatsoever. But there's
something guileless about it.

PFEFFERBERG
Like this?

SCHINDLER
(nodding)
There's nothing in the stores.

The clerk tries to discourage Pfefferberg from pursuing this
transaction with just a look. Pfefferberg ignores it.

PFEFFERBERG
You have any idea what a shirt like
this costs?

SCHINDLER
Nice things cost money.

The clerk tries to tell Pfefferberg again with a look that
this isn't smart.

PFEFFERBERG
How many?

SCHINDLER
I don't know, ten or twelve. That's
a good color. Dark blues, grays.

Schindler takes out his money and begins peeling off bills,
waiting for Pfefferberg to nod when it's enough. He's being
overcharged, and he knows it, but Pfefferberg keeps pushing
it, more. The look Schindler gives him lets him know that
he's trying to hustle a hustler, but that, in this instance
at least, he'll let it go. He hands over the money and
Pfefferberg hands over his notepad.

PFEFFERBERG
Write down your measurements.

As he writes down the information, Pfefferberg glances to
the desk clerk and offers a shrug. As he writes --

SCHINDLER
I'm going to need some other things.
As things come up.

EXT. GARDEN - SCHERNER'S RESIDENCE - CRACOW - DAY

As Oberfuhrer Scherner and his daughter, in a wedding gown,
dance to the music of a quartet on a bandstand, the reception
guests drink and eat at tables set up on an expansive lawn.

CZURDA
The SS doesn't own the trains,
somebody's got to pay. Whether it's
a passenger car or a livestock car,
it doesn't matter -- which, by the
way, you have to see. You have to
set aside an afternoon, go down to
the station and see this.

Other SS and Army officers share the table with Czurda.

Schindler, too, nice blue shirt, jacket, only he doesn't
seem to be paying attention; rather his attention and
affections are directed to the blonde next to him, Ingrid.

CZURDA
So you got thousands of fares that
have to be paid. Since it's the SS
that's reserved the trains, logically
they should pay. But this is a lot
of money.
(pause)
The Jews. They're the ones riding
the trains, they should pay. So you
got Jews paying their own fares to
ride on cattle cars to God knows
where. They pay the SS full fare,
the SS turns around, pays the railroad
a reduced excursion fare, and pockets
the difference.

He shrugs, There you have it. Brilliant. He glances off,
sees something odd across the yard. Two horses, saddled-up,
being led into the garden by a stable boy.

SCHINDLER
(to Ingrid)
Excuse me.

Schindler gets up from the table. Scherner, his wife and
daughter and son-in-law stare at the horses; they're
beautiful.

Schindler appears, takes the reins from the stable boy, hands
one set to the bride and the other to the groom.

SCHINDLER
There's nothing more sacred than
marriage. No happier an occasion
than one's wedding day. I wish you
all the best.

Scherner hails a photographer. As the guy comes over with
his camera, so does just about everybody else. Scherner
insists Schindler pose with the astonished bride and groom.

Big smiles. Flash.

INT. STOREFRONT - CRACOW - DAY

A neighborhood place. Bread, pastries, couple of tables. At
one sits owner and a well-dressed man in his seventies, Max
Redlicht.

OWNER
I go to the bank, I go in, they tell
me my account's been placed in Trust.
In Trust? What are they talking about,
whose Trust? The Germans'. I look
around. Now I see that everybody's
arguing, they can't get to their
money either.

MAX REDLICHT
This is true?

OWNER
I'll take you there.

Max looks at the man not without sympathy. He's never heard
of such a thing. It's really a bad deal. But then --

MAX REDLICHT
Let me understand. The Nazis have
taken your money. So because they've
done this to you, you expect me to
go unpaid. That's what you're saying.

The owner of the place just stares at Redlicht.

MAX REDLICHT
That makes sense to you?

The man doesn't answer. He watches Max get up and cross to
the front door where he says something to two of his guys
and leaves. The guys come in and start carting out anything
of any value: cash register, a chair, a loaf of bread...

EXT. CRACOW STREET - DAY

Max strolls along the sidewalk, browsing in store windows.

People inside and out nod hello, but they despise him, they
fear him.

Just as he's passing a synagogue, some men in long overcoats
cross the street. Einsatzgruppen, they are an elite and wild
bunch, one of six Special Chivalrous Duty squads assigned to
Cracow.

INT. STARAR BOZNICA SYNAGOGUE - SAME TIME - DAY

The Sabbath prayers of a congregation of Orthodox Jews are
interrupted by a commotion at the rear of the ancient temple.

Several non-Orthodox Jews from the street, including Max
Redlicht, are being herded inside by the Einsatz Boys.

They're made to stand before the Ark in two lines: Orthodox
and non. One of the Einsatzgruppen squad removes the parchment
Torah scroll while another calmly addresses the assembly:

EINSATZ NCO
I want you to spit on it. I want you
to walk past, spit on it, and stand
over there.

No one does anything for a moment. The liberals from the
street seem to say with their eyes, Come on, we're all too
sophisticated for this; the others, with the beards and
sidelocks, silently check with their rabbi.

One by one then they file past and spit on the scroll. The
last two, the rabbi and Max Redlicht hesitate. They exchange
a glance. The rabbi finally does it; the gangster doesn't.

After a long tense silence.

MAX REDLICHT
I haven't been to temple must be
fifty years.
(to the rabbi)
Nor have I been invited.

The Einsatz NCO glances from Max to the rabbi and smiles to
himself. This is unexpected, this rift.

MAX REDLICHT
(to the rabbi)
You don't approve of the way I make
my living? I'm a bad man, I do bad
things?

Max admits it with a shrug.

MAX REDLICHT
I've done some things... but I won't
do this.

Silence. The Einsatz NCO glances away to the others, amused.

EINSATZ NCO
What does this mean? Of all of you,
there's only one who has the guts to
say no? One? And he doesn't even
believe?
(no one, of course
answer him)
I come in here, I ask you to do
something no one should ever ask.
And you do it?
(pause)
What won't you do?

Nobody answers. He turns to Max.

EINSATZ NCO
You, sir, I respect.

He pulls out a revolver and shoots the old gangster in the
head. He's dead before he hits the floor.

EINSATZ NCO
The rest of you... ...are beneath
his contempt.

He turns and walks away. The other Einsatz Boys pull rifles
and revolvers from their coats and open fire.

EXT. CRACOW - DAY

In BLACK AND WHITE and absolute silence, a suitcase thrown

from a second story window arcs slowly through the air. As
it hits the pavement, spilling open -- SOUND ON -- and,
returning to COLOR --

Thousands of families pushing barrows through the streets of
Kazimierz, dragging mattresses over the bridge at Podgorze,
carrying kettles and fur coats and children on a mass forced
exodus into the ghetto.

Crowds of Poles line the sidewalks like spectators on a parade
route. Some wave. Some take it more soberly, as if sensing
they may be next.

POLISH GIRL
Goodbye, Jews.

EXT. GHETTO GATE - DAY

The little folding tables have been dragged out and set up
again, and at them sit the clerks.

Goldberg, of all people, has somehow managed to elevate
himself to a station of some authority. Armed with something
more frightening than a gun -- a clipboard -- he abets the
Gestapo in their task of deciding who passes through the
ghetto gate and who detours to the train station.

PFEFFERBERG
What's this?

Pfefferberg, with his wife Mila, at the head of a line that
seems to stretch back forever, flicks at Goldberg's OD armband
with disgust.

GOLDBERG
Ghetto Police. I'm a policeman now,
can you believe it?

PFEFFERBERG
Yeah, I can.

They consider each other for a long moment before Pfefferberg
leads his wife past Goldberg and into the ghetto.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING, GHETTO - NIGHT

Dismayed by each others' close proximity, Orthodox and liberal
Jews wait to use the floor's single bathroom.

INT. GHETTO APARTMENT - NIGHT

From the next apartment comes the liturgical solo of a cantor.
In this apartment, looking like they can't bear much more of
it, sit some non-Orthodox businessmen, Stern and Schindler.

SCHINDLER
For each thousand you invest, you
take from the loading dock five
hundred kilos of product a month --
to begin in July and to continue for
one year -- after which time, we're
even.
(he shrugs)
That's it.

He lets them think about it, pours a shot of cognac from his
flask, offers it to Stern, who brought this group together
and now sits at Schindler's side. The accountant declines.

INVESTOR 1
Not good enough.

SCHINDLER
Not good enough? Look where you're
living. Look where you've been put.
"Not good enough."
(he almost laughs at
the squalor)
A couple of months ago, you'd be
right. Not anymore.

INVESTOR 1
Money's still money.

SCHINDLER
No, it isn't, that's why we're here.

Schindler lights a cigarette and waits for their answer. It
doesn't come. Just a silence. Which irritates him.

SCHINDLER
Did I call this meeting? You told
Mr. Stern you wanted to speak to me.
I'm here. Now you want to negotiate?
The offer's withdrawn.

He caps his flask, pockets it, reaches for his top coat.

INVESTOR 2
How do we know you'll do what you
say?

SCHINDLER
Because I said I would. What do you
want, a contract? To be filed where?
(he slips into his
coat)
I said what I'll do, that's our
contract.

The investors study him. This is not a manageable German.

Whether he's honest or not is impossible to say. Their glances
to Stern don't help them; he doesn't know either.

The silence in the room is filled by the muffled singing
next door. One of the men eventually nods, He's in. Then
another. And another.

INT. FACTORY FLOOR - DAY

A red power button is pushed, starting the motor of a huge
metal press. The machine whirs, louder, louder.

INT. UPSTAIRS OFFICE - SAME TIME - DAY

Schindler, at a wall of a windows, is peering down at the
lone technician making adjustments to the machine.

STERN
The standard SS rate for Jewish
skilled labor is seven Marks a day,
five for unskilled and women. This
is what you pay the Economic Office,
the laborers themselves receive
nothing. Poles you pay wages.
Generally, they get a little more.
Are you listening?

Schindler turns from the wall of glass to face his new
accountant.

SCHINDLER
What was that about the SS, the rate,
the... ?

STERN
The Jewish worker's salary, you pay
it directly to the SS, not to the
worker. He gets nothing.

SCHINDLER
But it's less. It's less than what I
would pay a Pole. That's the point
I'm trying to make. Poles cost more.

Stern hesitates, then nods. The look on Schindler's face
says, Well, what's to debate, the answer's clear to any fool.

SCHINDLER
Why should I hire Poles?

INT. FACTORY FLOOR - DAY

Another machine starting up, growling louder, louder --

EXT. PEACE SQUARE, THE GHETTO - DAY

To a yellow identity card with a sepia photograph a German
clerk attaches a blue sticker, the holy Blauschein, proof
that the carrier is an essential worker. At other folding
tables other clerks pass summary judgment on hundreds of
ghetto dwellers standing in long lines.

TEACHER
I'm a teacher.

The man tries to hand over documentation supporting the claim
along with his Kennkarte to a German clerk.

CLERK
Not essential work, stand over there.

Over there, other "non-essential people" are climbing onto
trucks bound for unknown destinations. The teacher reluctantly
relinquishes his place in line.

EXT. PEACE SQUARE - LATER - DAY

The teacher at the head of the line again, but this time
with Stern at his side.

TEACHER
I'm a metal polisher.

He hands over a piece of paper. The clerk takes a look, is
satisfied with it, brushes glue on the back of a Blauschein
and sticks it to the man's work card.

CLERK
Good.

The world's gone mad.

INT. FACTORY FLOOR - DAY

Another machine starting up, a lathe. A technician points
things out to the teacher and some others recruited by Stern.

The motor grinds louder, louder.

INT. APARTMENT - DAY

Schindler wanders around a large empty apartment. There's
lots of light, glass bricks, modern lines, windows looking
out on a park.

INT. THE APARTMENT - NIGHT

The same place full of furniture and people. Lots of SS in
uniform. Wine. Girls. Schindler, drinking with Oberfuhrer
Scherner, keeps glancing across the room to a particularly
good-looking Polish girl with another guy in uniform.

SCHERNER
I'd never ask you for money, you
know that. I don't even like talking
about it -- money, favors -- I find
it very awkward, it makes me very
uncomfortable --

SCHINDLER
No, look. It's the others. They're
the ones causing these delays.

SCHERNER
What others?

SCHINDLER
Whoever. They're the ones. They'd
appreciate some kind of gesture from
me.

Scherner thinks he understands what Schindler's saying. Just
in case he doesn't --

SCHINDLER
I should send it to you, though,
don't you think? You can forward it
on? I'd be grateful.

Scherner nods. Yes, they understand each other.

SCHERNER
That'd be fine.

SCHINDLER
Done. Let's not talk about it anymore,
let's have a good time.

INT. SS OFFICE - DAY

Scherner at his desk initialing several Armaments contracts.

The letters D.E.F. appear on all of them.

EXT. FACTORY - DAY

Men and pulleys hoist a big "F" up the side of the building.

Down below, Schindler watches as the letter is set into place --
D.E.F.

INT. FACTORY OFFICES - DAY

The good-looking Polish girl from the party, Klonowska, is
shown to her desk by Stern. It's right outside Schindler's
office. This girl has never typed in her life.

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.

SCHINDLER
There's no way I could have known
this before, but there was always
something missing. In every business
I tried, I see now it wasn't me that
was failing, it was this thing, this
missing thing. Even if I'd known
what it was, there's nothing I could
have done about it, because you can't
create this sort of thing. And it
makes all the difference in the world
between success and failure.

He waits for her to guess what the thing is. His looks says,
It's so simple, how can you not know?

EMILIE
Luck.

SCHINDLER
War.

INT. NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT

"Gloomy Sunday" from a combo on a stage. Schindler and Emilie
dancing. Pressed against her -- both have had a few -- he
can feel her laugh to herself.

SCHINDLER
What?

EMILIE
I feel like an old-fashioned couple.
It feels good.

He smiles, even as his eyes roam the room and find and meet
the eyes of a German girl dancing with another man.

INT. SCHINDLER'S APARTMENT - LATER - NIGHT

Schindler and Emilie lounging in bed, champagne bottle on
the nightstand. Long silence before --

EMILIE
Should I stay?

SCHINDLER
(pause)
It's a beautiful city.

That's not the answer she's looking for and he knows it.

EMILIE
Should I stay?

SCHINDLER
(pause)
It's up to you.

That's not it either.

EMILIE
No, it's up to you.

Schindler stares out at the lights of the city. They look
like jewels.

EMILIE
Promise me no doorman or maitre 'd
will presume I am anyone other than
Mrs. Schindler... and I'll stay.

He promises her nothing.

EXT. TRAIN STATION - DAY

Emilie waves goodbye to him from a first-class compartment
window. Down on the platform, he waves goodbye to her. as
the train pulls away, he turns away, and the platform of the
next track is revealed -- soldiers and clerks supervising
the boarding of hundreds of people onto another train -- the
image turning BLACK AND WHITE.

CLERKS
Your luggage will follow you. Make
sure it's clearly labeled. Leave
your luggage on the platform.

EXT. D.E.F. LOADING DOCK - DAY

As workers load crates of enamelware onto trucks -- back to
COLOR -- Stern and Schindler and the dock foreman confer
over an invoice.

More to Stern --

FOREMAN
Every other time it's been all right.
This time when I weigh the truck, I
see he's heavy, he's loaded too much.
I point this out to him, I tell him
to wait, he tells me he's got a new
arrangement with Mr. Schindler --
(to Schindler)
-- that you know all about it and
it's okay with you.

SCHINDLER
It's "okay" with me?

On the surface, Schindler remains calm; underneath, he's
livid. Clearly it's not "okay" with him.

STERN
How heavy was he?

FOREMAN
Not that much, just too much for it
to be a mistake -- 200 kilos.

Stern and Schindler exchange a glance. Then --

SCHINDLER
(pause)
You're sure.

The foreman nods.

INT. GHETTO STOREFRONT - DAY

Pfefferberg and Schindler bang in through the front door,
startling a woman at a desk.

WOMAN AT DESK
Can I help you?

They move past her without a word and into the back of the
place, into a storeroom. They stride past long racks full of
enamelware and other goods.

A man glances up, sees them coming. He's one of Schindler's
investors, the one who questioned the German's word. The
man's teenage sons rush to their father's defense, but
Pfefferberg grabs him and locks an arm tightly around his
neck.

Silence. Then, calmly --

SCHINDLER
If you or anyone acting as an agent
for you comes to my factory again,
I'll have you arrested.

INVESTOR
It was a mistake.

SCHINDLER
It was a mistake? What was a mistake?
How do you know what I'm talking
about?

INVESTOR
All right, it wasn't a mistake, but
it was one time.

SCHINDLER
We had a deal, you broke it. One
phone call and your whole family is
dead.

He turns and walks away. Pfefferberg lets the guy go and
follows. The investor's sons help their father up off the
floor. Gasping, he yells.

INVESTOR
I gave you money.

-- but Schindler and Pfefferberg are already gone, coming
through the front office and out the front door --

EXT. STOREFRONT - CONTINUOUS - DAY

-- to the street. Pfefferberg looks a little shaken from the
experience. Schindler straightens his friend's clothes.

SCHINDLER
How you feeling, all right?

PFEFFERBERG
Yeah.

SCHINDLER
What's the matter, everything all
right at home?
(Pfefferberg nods)
Mila's okay?

PFEFFERBERG
She's good.

Well, then, Schindler can't imagine what could be wrong. He
pats Pfefferberg on the shoulder and leads him away.

SCHINDLER
Good.

INT. FACTORY FLOOR - DAY

The long tables accommodate most of workers. The rest eat
their lunch on the floor. Soup and bread.

INT. SCHINDLER'S OFFICE - SAME TIME - DAY

An elegant place setting for one. Meat, vegetables, glass of
wine, all untouched. Schindler leafing through pages of a
report Stern has prepared for him.

SCHINDLER
I could try to read this or I could
eat my lunch while it's till hot.
We're doing well?

STERN
Yes.

SCHINDLER
Better this month than last?

STERN
Yes.

SCHINDLER
Any reason to think next month will
be worse?

STERN
The war could end.

No chance of that. Satisfied, Schindler returns the report
to his accountant and starts to eat. Stern knows he is
excused, but looks like he wants to say something more; he
just doesn't know how to say it.

SCHINDLER
(impatient)
What?

STERN
(pause)
There's a machinist outside who'd
like to thank you personally for
giving him a job.

Schindler gives his accountant a long-suffering look.

STERN
He asks every day. It'll just take a
minute. He's very grateful.

Schindler's silence says, Is this really necessary? Stern
pretends it's a tacit okay, goes to the door and pokes his
head out.

STERN
Mr. Lowenstein?

An old man with one arm appears in the doorway and Schindler
glances to the ceiling, to heaven. As the man slowly makes
his way into the room, Schindler sees the bruises on his
face. And when he speaks, only half his mouth moves; the
other half is paralyzed.

LOWENSTEIN
I want to thank you, sir, for giving
me the opportunity to work.

SCHINDLER
You're welcome, I'm sure you're doing
a great job.

Schindler shakes the man's hand perfunctorily and tells Stern
with a look, okay, that's enough, get him out of here.

LOWENSTEIN
The SS beat me up. They would have
killed me, but I'm essential to the
war effort, thanks to you.

SCHINDLER
That's great.

LOWENSTEIN
I work hard for you. I'll continue
to work hard for you.

SCHINDLER
That's great, thanks.

LOWENSTEIN
God bless you, sir.

SCHINDLER
Yeah, okay.

LOWENSTEIN
You're a good man.

Schindler is dying, and telling Stern with his eyes, Get
this guy out of here. Stern takes the man's arm.

STERN
Okay, Mr. Lowenstein.

LOWENSTEIN
He saved my life.

STERN
Yes, he did.

LOWENSTEIN
God bless him.

STERN
Yes.

They disappear out the door. Schindler sits down to his meal.
And tries to eat it.

EXT. FACTORY - DAY

Stern and Schindler emerge from the rear of the factory. The
Mercedes is waiting, the back door held open by a driver.

Climbing in --

SCHINDLER
Don't ever do that to me again.

STERN
Do what?

Stern knows what he means. And Schindler knows he knows.

SCHINDLER
Close the door.

The driver closes the door.

EXT. GHETTO GATE - DAY

Snow on the ground and more coming down. A hundred of
Schindler's workers marching past the ghetto gate, as is the
custom, under armed guard. Turning onto Zablocie Street,
they're halted by an SS unit standing around some trucks.

EXT. ZABLOCIE STREET - DAY

Shovels scraping at snow. The marchers working to clear it
from the street. A dialog between one of the guards and an
SS officer is interrupted by a shot -- and the face of the
one-armed machinist falls into the frame.

INT. OFFICE, SS HEADQUARTERS - DAY

Herman Toffel, an SS contact of Schindler's who he actually
likes, sits behind his desk.

TOFFEL
It's got nothing to do with reality,
Oskar, I know it and you know it,
it's a matter of national priority
to these guys. It's got a ritual
significance to them, Jews shoveling
snow.

SCHINDLER
I lost a day of production. I lost a
worker. I expect to be compensated.

TOFFEL