Schindler’s List


Source:

“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
File a grievance with the Economic
Office, it’s your right.

SCHINDLER
Would it do any good?

TOFFEL
No.

Schindler knows it’s not Toffel’s fault, but the whole
situation is maddening to him. He shakes his head in disgust.

TOFFEL
I think you’re going to have to put
up with a lot of snow shoveling yet.

Schindler gets up, shakes Toffel’s hand, turns to leave.

TOFFEL
A one-armed machinist, Oskar?

SCHINDLER
(right back)
He was a metal press operator, quite
skilled.

Toffel nods, smiles.

EXT. FIELD – DAY

From a distance, Stern and Schindler slowly walk a wasteland
that lies between the rear of DEF and two other factories —
a radiator works and a box plant.

Stern’s doing all the talking, in his usual quiet but
persuasive manner. Every so often, Schindler, glancing from
his own factory to the others, nods.

INT. SCHINDLER’S OFFICE – DAY

The party pins the two other German businessmen wear are
nothing compared to the elaborate thing in Schindler’s lapel.

He sits at his desk sipping cognac, a large portrait of Hitler
hanging prominently on the wall behind him.

SCHINDLER
Unlike your radiators — and your
boxes — my products aren’t for sale
on the open market. This company has
only one client, the German Army.
And lately I’ve been having trouble
fulfilling my obligations to my
client. With your help, I hope the
problem can be solved. The problem,
simply, is space.

Stern, who has been keeping a low profile, hands the gentlemen
each a set of documents.

SCHINDLER
I’d like you to consider a proposal
which I think you’ll find equitable.
I’d like you to think about it and
get back to me as soon as —

KUHNPAST
Excuse me — do you really think
this is appropriate?

The man glances to Stern, and back to Schindler, his look
saying, This is wrong, having a Jew present while we discuss
business. If Schindler catches his meaning, he doesn’t admit
it. Kuhnpast almost sighs.

KUHNPAST
I can appreciate your problem. If I
had any space I could lease you, I
would. I don’t. I’m sorry.

HOHNE
Me neither, sorry.

SCHINDLER
I don’t want to lease your facilities,
I want to buy them. I’m prepared to
offer you fair market value. And to
let you stay on, if you want, as
supervisors.
(pause)
On salary.

There’s a long stunned silence. The Germans can’t believe
it. After the initial shock wears off, Kuhnpast has to laugh.

KUHNPAST
You’ve got to be kidding.

Nobody is kidding.

KUHNPAST
(pause)
Thanks for the drink.

He sets it down, gets up. Hohne gets up. They return the
documents to Stern and turn to leave. They aren’t quite out
the door when Schindler wonders out loud to Stern:

SCHINDLER
You try to be fair to people, they
walk out the door; I’ve never
understood that. What’s next?

STERN
Christmas presents.

SCHINDLER
Ah, yes.

The businessmen slow, but don’t look back into the room.

EXT. SCHERNER’S RESIDENCE – CRACOW – MORNING

Pfefferberg wipes a smudge from the hood of an otherwise
pristine BMW Cabriolet. As Scherner and his wife emerge from
their house in robes, Scherner whispers to himself —

SCHERNER
Oskar…

EXT. KUHNPAST’S RADIATOR FACTORY – DAY

Workers high on the side of the building toss down the letters
of the radiator sign as others hoist up a big “D.” Under
armed guard, others unload a metal press machine from a truck.

INT. RADIATOR FACTORY / DEF ANNEX – DAY

Technicians make adjustments to presses already in place.

Others test the new firing ovens. Kuhnpast is being forcibly
removed from the premises.

INT. GHETTO EMPLOYMENT OFFICE – DAY

Crowded beyond belief, the place is like a post office gone
mad. Stern, moving along one of the impossibly crowded lines,
pauses to speak with an elderly couple.

EXT. PEACE SQUARE – DAY

A hand slaps a blue sticker on a work card. Slap, another.

And another. And another.

INT. D.E.F. FRONT OFFICE – DAY

Christmas decorations. Klonowska at her desk, her eyes closed
tight.

SCHINDLER
All right.

She opens her eyes and smiles. Schindler is holding a poodle
in his arms. She comes around to kiss him. He sets the dog
on the desk. Stern, across the room, watches blank-faced.

GESTAPO (O.S.)
Oskar Schindler?

Schindler, Stern and Klonowska turn to the voice. Two Gestapo
men have entered unannounced.

GESTAPO
We have a warrant to take your
company’s business records with us.
And another to take you.

Schindler stares at them in disbelief. Stern quietly slips
one of the ledgers on his desk into a drawer.

SCHINDLER
Am I permitted to have my secretary
cancel my appointments for the day?

He doesn’t wait for their approval. He scribbles down some
names — Toffel, Czurda, Reeder, Scherner. Underlining
Scherner, he glances to Klonowska. She understands.

INT. OFFICE, SS HEADQUARTERS, CRACOW – DAY

A humorless middle-level bureaucrat sits behind a desk and
D.E.F.’s ledgers and cashbooks.

GESTAPO CLERK
You live very well.

The man slowly shakes his head ‘no’ to Schindler’s offer of
a cigarette. Schindler tamps it against the crystal of his
gold watch.

GESTAPO CLERK
This standard of living comes entirely
from legitimate sources, I take it?

Schindler lights the cigarette and drags on it, all but
ignoring the man.

GESTAPO CLERK
As an SS supplier, you have a moral
obligation to desist from blackmarket
dealings. You’re in business to
support the war effort, not to fatten —

SCHINDLER
(interrupting)
You know? When my friends ask, I’d
love to be able to tell them you
treated me with the utmost courtesy
and respect.

The quiet matter-of-fact tone, more than the comment itself,
throws the bureaucrat off his rhythm. His eyes narrow
slightly. There’s a long silence.

INT. HALLWAY/ROOM – SS HEADQUARTERS – DAY

The two who arrested him lead Schindler down a long hallway.

They reach a door, have him step inside and close the door
after him.

INT. SS “CELL” – EVENING

Schindler knocks on the inside of the door. A Waffen SS man
opens it. The “prisoner” peels several bills from a thick
wad.

SCHINDLER
Chances of getting a bottle of vodka
pretty good?

He hands the young guard five times the going price.

WAFFEN GUARD
Yes, sir.

The guard turns to leave.

SCHINDLER
Wait a minute.

He peels off several more bills and hands them over.

SCHINDLER
Pajamas.

INT. SS “CELL” – MORNING

Perched on the side of the bed in pajamas, Schindler works
on a breakfast of herring and eggs, cheeses, rolls and coffee.

Someone has also brought him a newspaper. There’s an
apologetic knock on the door before it opens.

GUARD
I’m sorry to disturb you, sir.
Whenever you’re ready, you’re free
to leave.

INT. FOYER, SS HEADQUARTERS – MORNING

Schindler, the Gestapo clerk and one of the arresting officers
cross the foyer.

GESTAPO CLERK
I’d advise you not to get too
comfortable. Sooner or later, law
prevails. No matter who your friends
are.

Schindler ignores the man completely. Reaching the front
doors, the clerk turns over the D.E.F. records to their owner
and offers his hand. Schindler lets it hang there.

SCHINDLER
You expect me to walk home, or what?

GESTAPO CLERK
(tightly)
Bring a car around for Mr. Schindler.

EXT. D.E.F. FACTORY – DAY

A Gestapo limousine pulls in through the gates of the factory,
parks near the loading docks. The driver, the same SS officer,
waits for Schindler to climb out, but he doesn’t; he waits
for the SS man to come around and open the door for him.

SCHINDLER
If you’d return the ledgers to my
office I’d appreciate it.

There are no less than forty able-bodied Jewish laborers
working on the docks, any one of which would be better suited
to the task. The Gestapo man calls to one of them.

SCHINDLER
Excuse me — hey —
(the guy turns)
They’re working.

The guy just stares. Finally he heads off with the ledgers.

The poodle bounds out past him and over to Schindler. He
gives the dog a pat on the head.

EXT. SCHINDLER’S BUILDING – EVENING

Elegantly dressed for a night out, Schindler and Klonowska
emerge from the building. As they’re escorted to the waiting
car, Schindler hesitates. A nervous figure in the shadows of
an alcove is gesturing to him, beckoning him.

Schindler excuses himself. Klonowska watches as he joins the
man in the alcove. Their whispered conversation is over
quickly and the man hurries off.

EXT. PROKOCIM DEPOT – CRACOW – LATER – NIGHT

From the locomotive, looking back, the string of splattered
livestock carriages stretches into darkness. There’s a lot
of activity on the platform.

Guards mill. Handcards piled with luggage trundle by.

People hand up children to others already in the cars and
climb aboard after them. The clerks are out in full force
with their lists and clipboards, reminding the travelers to
label their suitcases.

Climbing from his Mercedes, Schindler stares. He’s heard of
this, but actually seeing the juxtaposition — human and
cattle cars — this is something else.

Recovering, he tells Klonowska to stay in the car and, moving
along the side of the train, calls Stern’s name to the faces
peering out from behind the slats and barbed wire.

AN ENORMOUS LIST OF NAMES —

— several pages-worth on a clipboard; a Gestapo clerk
methodically leafing through them.

SCHINDLER (O.S.)
He’s essential. Without him,
everything comes to a grinding halt.
If that happens —

CLERK
Itzhak Stern?
(Schindler nods)
He’s on the list.

SCHINDLER
He is.

The clerk shows him the list, points out the name to him.

SCHINDLER
Well, let’s find him.

CLERK
He’s on the list. If he were an
essential worker, he would not be on
the list. He’s on the list. You can’t
have him.

SCHINDLER
I’m talking to a clerk.

Schindler pulls out a small notepad and drops his voice to a
hard murmur, the growl of a reasonable man who isn’t ready —
yet — to bring out his heavy guns:

SCHINDLER
What’s your name?

CLERK
Sir, the list is correct.

SCHINDLER
I didn’t ask you about the list, I
asked you your name.

CLERK
Klaus Tauber.

As Schindler writes it down, the clerk has second thoughts
and calls to a superior, an SS sergeant, who comes over.

CLERK
The gentleman thinks a mistake’s
been made.

SCHINDLER
My plant manager is somewhere on
this train. If it leaves with him on
it, it’ll disrupt production and the
Armaments Board will want to know
why.

The sergeant takes a good hard look at the clothes, at the
pin, at the man wearing them.

SERGEANT
(to the clerk)
Is he on the list?

CLERK
Yes, sir.

SERGEANT
(to Schindler)
The list is correct, sir. There’s
nothing I can do.

SCHINDLER
May as well get your name while you’re
here.

SERGEANT
My name? My name is Kunder. Sergeant
Kunder. What’s yours?

SCHINDLER
Schindler.

The sergeant takes out a pad. Now all three of them have
lists. He jots down Schindler’s name. Schindler jots down
his and flips the pad closed.

SCHINDLER
Sergeant, Mr. Tauber, thank you very
much. I think I can guarantee you
you’ll both be in Southern Russia
before the end of the month. Good
evening.

He walks away, back toward his car. The clerk and sergeant
smile. But slowly, slowly, the smiles sour at the possibility
that this man calmly walking away from them could somehow
arrange such a fate…

ALL THREE OF THEM —

— Schindler, the clerk and the sergeant — stride along the
side of the cars. Two of them are calling out loudly —

CLERK & SERGEANT
Stern! Itzhak Stern!

Soon it seems as if everybody except Schindler is yelling
out the name. As they reach the last few cars, the
accountant’s face appears through the slats.

SCHINDLER
There he is.

SERGEANT
Open it.

Guards yank at a lever, slide the gate open. Stern climbs
down. The clerk draws a line through his name on the list
and hands the clipboard to Schindler.

CLERK
Initial it, please.
(Schindler initials
the change)
And this…

As Schindler signs three or four forms, the guards slide the
carriage gate closed. Those left inside seem grateful for
the extra space.

CLERK
It makes no difference to us, you
understand — this one, that one.
It’s the inconvenience to the list.
It’s the paperwork.

Schindler returns the clipboard. The sergeant motions to
another who motions to the engineer. As the train pulls out,
Stern tries to keep up with Schindler who’s striding away.

STERN
I somehow left my work card at home.
I tried to tell them it was a mistake,
but they —

Schindler silences him with a look. He’s livid. Stern glances
down at the ground.

STERN
I’m sorry. It was stupid.
(contrite)
Thank you.

Schindler turns away and heads for the car. Stern hurries
after him. They pass an area where all the luggage, carefully
tagged, has been left — the image becoming BLACK and WHITE.

EXT./INT. MECHANICS GARAGE – NIGHT

Mechanics’ hood-lamps throw down pools of light through which
me wheel handcarts piled high with suitcases, briefcases,
steamer trunks — BLACK and WHITE.

Moving along with one of the handcarts into a huge garage
past racks of clothes, each item tagged, past musical
instruments, furniture, paintings, against one wall —
children’s toys, sorted by size.

The cart stops. A valise is handed to someone who dumps and
sorts the contents on a greasy table. The jewelry is taken
to another area, to a pit, one of two deep lubrication bays
filled with watches, bracelets, necklaces, candelabra,
Passover platters, gold in one, silver the other, and tossed
in.

At workbenches, four Jewish jewelers under SS guard sift and
sort and weigh and grade diamonds, pearls, pendants, brooches
children’s rings — faltering only once, when a uniformed
figure upends a box, spilling out gold teeth smeared with
blood — the image saturating with COLOR.

EXT. COUNTRYSIDE – DAY

Fractured gravestones like broken teeth jut from the earth
of a neglected Jewish cemetery outside of town. Down the
road that runs alongside it comes a German staff car.

INT. STAFF CAR – MOVING – DAY

In the backseat, Untersturmfuhrer Amon Goeth pulls on a flask
of schnapps. His age and build are about that of Schindler’s;
his face open and pleasant.

GOETH
Make a nice driveway.

The other SS officers in the car — Knude, Haase and Hujar —
aren’t sure what he means. He’s peering out the window at
the tombstones.

EXT. GHETTO – DAY

The staff car passes through the portals of the ghetto and
down the trolley lines of Lwowska Street.

INT. STAFF CAR – MOVING – DAY

As the car slowly cruises through the ghetto, Knude, like a
tour guide, briefs the new man, Goeth —

KNUDE
This street divides the ghetto just
about in half. On the right — Ghetto
A: civil employees, industry workers,
so on. On the left, Ghetto B: surplus
labor, the elderly mostly. Which is
where you’ll probably want to start.

The look Goeth gives Knude tells him to refrain, if he would,
from offering tactical opinions.

KNUDE
Of course that’s entirely up to you.

EXT. PLASZOW FORCED LABOR SITE – DAY

Outside of town, a previously abandoned limestone quarry
lies nestled between two hills. The stone and brick buildings
look like they’ve been here forever; the wooden structures,
those that are up, are built of freshly-cut lumber.

There’s a great deal of activity. New construction and
renovation — foundations being poured, rail tracks being
laid, fences and watchtowers going up, heavy segments of
huts — wall panels, eaves sections — being dragged uphill
by teams of bescarved women like some ancient Egyptian
industry.

Goeth surveys the site from a knoll, clearly pleased with
it.

But then he’s distracted by voices — a man’s, a woman’s —
arguing down where some barracks are being erected.

The woman breaks off the dialog with a disgusted wave of her
hand and stalks back to a half-finished barracks. The man,
one from the car, Hujar, sees Goeth, Knude and Haase coming
down the hill and moves to meet them.

HUJAR
She says the foundation was poured
wrong, she’s got to take it down. I
told her it’s a barracks, not a
fucking hotel, fucking Jew engineer.

Goeth watches the woman moving around the shell of the
building, pointing, directing, telling the workers to take
it all down. He goes to take a closer look. She comes over.

ENGINEER
The entire foundation has to be dug
up and re-poured. If it isn’t, the
thing will collapse before it’s even
completed.

Goeth considers the foundation as if he knew about such
things. He nods pensively. Then turns to Hujar.

GOETH
(calmly)
Shoot her.

It’s hard to tell which is more stunned by the order, the
woman or Hujar. Both stare at Goeth in disbelief. He gives
her the reason along with a shrug —

GOETH
You argued with my man.
(to Hujar)
Shoot her.

Hujar unholsters his pistol but holds it limply at his side.

The workers become aware of what’s happening and still their
hammers.

HUJAR
Sir…

Goeth groans and takes the gun from him and puts it to the
woman’s head. Calmly to her —

GOETH
I’m sure you’re right.

He fires. She crumples to the ground. He returns the gun to
his stunned inferior and, gesturing down at the body,
addresses the workers.

GOETH
That’s somebody who knew what they
were doing. That’s somebody I needed.
(pause)
Take it down, re-pour it, rebuild
it, like she said.

He turns and walks away.

EXT. STABLES – DAWN

Stable boys lead two horses into the pre-dawn light. The
animals’ hoofs shatter tufts of weeds like fingers of glass;
fog plumes from their nostrils.

EXT. PARK, CRACOW – DAWN

In addition to the exhaust from idling trucks and the curling
smoke from the Sonderkommando units’ cigarettes, there is
excitement in the chilly pre-dawn air.

EXT. GHETTO – DAWN

An empty street. Rooftops against a lightening sky. A few of
the windows in the buildings are lighted, glowing amber; the
majority are still dark.

EXT. STABLES – DAWN

The stable boys hoist saddles onto the horses, cinch the
straps. Leaning against the hood of the Mercedes, Schindler
and Ingrid, in long hacking jackets, riding breeches and
boots, share cognac from his flask.

EXT. PARK, CRACOW – DAWN

Untersturmfuhrer Goeth, soon to be Commandant Goeth, stands
before the assembled troops with a flask of cognac in his
hand. He looks out over them proudly; they’re good boys,
these, the best. He addresses them —

GOETH
Today is history. The young will ask
with wonder about this day. Today is
history and you are a part of it.

EXT. PEACE SQUARE, GHETTO – DAWN

A fourteen year old kid hurries across to the square pulling
on his O.D. armband. Several others of the Jewish Ghetto
Police, Golberg among them, are already assembled there. The
clerks, the list makers, scissor open their folding tables,
set out their ink pads and stamps.

GOETH (V.O.)
When, elsewhere, they were footing
the blame for the Black Death,
Kazimierz the Great, so called, told
the Jews they could come to Cracow.
They came.

EXT. STABLES – DAWN

Ingrid climbs onto one of the horses, Schindler onto the
other. As the animals gallop away with their riders toward a
wood, the stable boys wave.

GOETH (V.O.)
They trundled their belongings into
this city, they settled, they took
hold, they prospered.

EXT. PARK, CRACOW – DAWN

The fresh young faces of the Sonderkommandos, listening to
their commander.

GOETH
For six centuries, there has been a
Jewish Cracow.

EXT. WOODS – DAWN

The horses panting hard. Their hoofs hammering at the ground,
climbing a hill. Riding boots kicking at their flanks.

EXT. PARK, CRACOW – DAWN

The boots of Amon Goeth slowly pacing. He stops. Tight on
his face, smiling pleasantly.

GOETH
By this weekend, those six centuries,
they’re a rumor. They never happened.
Today is history.

EXT. HILLTOP CLEARING – DAWN

The galloping horses break through to a clearing high on a
hill. The riders pull in the reins and the hoofs rip at the
earth.

Schindler smiles at the view, the beauty of it with the sun
just coming up. From here, all of Cracow can be seen in
striking relief, like a model of a town.

He can see the Vistula, the river that separates the ghetto
from Kazimierz; Wawel Castle, from where the National
Socialist Party’s Hans Frank rules the Government General of
Poland; beyond it, the center of town.

He begins to notice refinements: the walls that define the
ghetto; Peace Square, the assembly of men and boys. He notices
a line of trucks rolling east across the Kosciuscko Bridge,
and another across the bridge at Podgorze, a third along
Zablocie Street, all angling in on the ghetto like spokes to
a hub.

EXT. GHETTO – DAY

The wheels of the last truck clear the portals at Lwowska
Street and the Sonderkommandos jump down.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDINGS – DAWN

Families are routed from their apartments. An appeal to be
allowed to pack is answered with a rifle butt; an unannounced
move to a desk drawer is countered with a shot.

EXT. STREETS, GHETTO – DAWN

Spilling out of the buildings, they’re herded into lines
without regard to family consideration; some other
unfathomable system is at work here. The wailing protests of
a woman to join her husband’s line are abruptly cut off by a
short burst of gunfire.

EXT. HILLTOP – DAWN

From here, the action down below seems staged, unreal; the
rifle bursts no louder than caps. Dismounting, Schindler
moves closer to the edge of the hill, curious.

His attention is drawn to a small distant figure, all in
red, at the rear of one of the many columns.

EXT. STREET – DAWN

Small red shoes against a forest of gleaming black boots. A
Waffen SS man occasionally corrects the little girl’s drift,
fraternally it seems, nudging her gently back in line with
the barrel of his rifle. A volley of shots echoes from up
the street.

EXT. HILLTOP – DAWN

Schindler watches as the girl slowly wanders away unnoticed
by the SS. Against the grays of the buildings and street
she’s like a moving red target.

EXT. STREET – DAWN

A truck thundering down the street obscures her for a moment.

Then she’s moving past a pile of bodies, old people executed
in the street.

EXT. HILLTOP – DAWN

Schindler watches: she’s so conspicuous, yet she keeps moving —
past crowds, past dogs, past trucks — as though she were
invisible.

EXT. STREET – DAWN

Patients in white gowns, and doctors and nurses in white,
are herded out the doors of a convalescent hospital. The
small figure in red moves past them. Shots explode behind
her.

EXT. HILLTOP – DAWN

Short bursts of light flash throughout the ghetto like stars.

Schindler, fixated on the figure in red, loses sight of her
as she turns a corner.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING – DAWN

She climbs the stairs. The building is empty. She steps inside
an apartment and moves through it. It’s been ransacked. As
she crawls under the bed, the scene DRAINS of COLOR.

The gunfire outside sounds like firecrackers.

EXT. HILLTOP – NIGHT

NIGHT Silence. Schindler and Ingrid are gone.

Below, the ghetto lies like a void within the city, its
perimeter and interior clearly distinguishable by darkness.

Outside it, the lights of the rest of Cracow glimmer.

INT. D.E.F. FACTORY – NIGHT

Tables and tools and enamelware scrap. The metal presses and
lathes, still. The firing ovens, cold. The gauges at zero.

Against the wall of windows overlooking the empty factory
floor stands a figure, Schindler, in silhouette against the
glass, black against white, not moving, just staring down.

EXT. FOREST – PLASZOW – MORNING

Bloody wheelbarrows, stark against the tree line of a forest
above the completed forced labor camp, PLASZOW.

EXT. PLASZOW FORCED LABOR CAMP – MORNING

Names on lists. Names called out. Tight on faces.

Goldberg at one of several folding tables. The gangsterturned —
ghetto-cop is now the Lord of Lists inside Plaszow.

He and other listmakers call out names, accounting for those
thousands who survived the liquidation of the ghetto and now
stand before them in long straight rows.

INT. GOETH’S BEDROOM, PLASZOW – MORNING

Amon Goeth stirs, wakes, glances at the woman asleep beside
him. Hungover, he drags himself slowly out of bed.

EXT. GOETH’S BALCONY – MOMENTS LATER – MORNING

Goeth steps out onto the balcony in his undershirt and shorts
and peers out across the labor camp, his labor camp, his
kingdom. Satisfied with it, even amazed, he’s reminiscent of
Schindler looking down on his kingdom, his factory, as he
loves to do, from his wall of glass.

Life is great. Goeth reaches for a rifle.

EXT. PLASZOW SAME TIME – MORNING

Workers loading quarry rock onto trolleys under Ukrainian
guard and a low morning sun. Every so often, one glances
with anticipation to the balcony of Goeth’s “villa” — which
is in fact nothing more than a two-story stone house perched
on a slight rise in the dry landscape.

EXT. GOETH’S BALCONY – CONTINUED – MORNING

The butt of the rifle against his shoulder, Goeth aims down

at the quarry — at this worker, at that one —
indiscriminately, inscrutably. He fires a shot and a distant
figure falls.

INT. GOETH’S BEDROOM – SAME TIME – MORNING

The woman in bed groans at the echoing shot. She’s used to
it but she still hates it; it’s such an awful way to be woken.

MAJOLA
(mutters)
Amon… Christ…

She buries her head under a pillow. Goeth reappears. He pads
to his bathroom, goes inside and urinates.

EXT. PLASZOW – DAY

Schindler’s Mercedes winds through the camp, past warehouses
and workshops, trucks full of furs and furniture, work
details, barracks, guard blocks. A man standing alone wears
a sign around his neck — “I am a potato thief.”

EXT. GOETH’S VILLA – PLASZOW – DAY

The Mercedes pulls in next to some other nice cars parked on
a driveway made of tombstones from the Jewish cemetery.

EXT. PATIO, GOETH’S VILLA – DAY

A patio table set with crystal, china, silver. Goeth and
Hujar are there, in pressed SS uniforms, and two
industrialists, Bosch and Madritsch. One chair is empty.

HUJAR
Your machinery will be moved and
installed by the SS at no cost to
you. You will pay no rent, no
maintenance —

Hujar glances off, interrupted by Schindler’s arrival.

Although he’s never been here, the industrialist comes in
like he owns the place. All but Goeth rise.

SCHINDLER
No, no, come on, sit —

He works his way around the table, patting Bosch and Madritsch
on the back — he knows them — shaking Hujar’s hand, who he
doesn’t know. He reaches Goeth.

SCHINDLER
How you doing?

Goeth takes a good long look at the handsomely dressed
entrepreneur and allows him to shake his hand.

GOETH
We started without you.

SCHINDLER
Good.

Schindler takes a seat, shakes a napkin onto his lap, nods
to the servant holding out a bottle of champagne to him.

SCHINDLER
Please.

Goeth watches him. The others watch Goeth.

SCHINDLER
I miss anything important?

HUJAR
I was explaining to Mr. Bosch and
Mr. Madritsch some of the benefits
of moving their factories into
Plaszow.

SCHINDLER
Oh, good, yeah.

Schindler clearly doesn’t care, but nods as though he did.

He drinks. Goeth just watches him with what seems to be
growing amusement. He nods to Hujar to continue.

HUJAR
Since your labor is housed on-site,
it’s available to you at all times.
You can work them all night if you
want. Your factory policies, whatever
they’ve been in the past, they’ll
continue to be, they’ll be respected —

Schindler laughs out loud, cutting Hujar off. Hujar glances
over to Goeth nonplussed.

SCHINDLER
I’m sorry.

He’s not sorry at all, and starts in on the plate of food
that’s set down in front of him.

GOETH
You know, they told me you were going
to be trouble — Czurda and Scherner.

SCHINDLER
You’re kidding.

Goeth slowly shakes his head no… then smiles.

GOETH
He looks great, though, doesn’t he?
I have to know — where do you get a
suit like that? what is that, silk?
(Schindler nods)
It’s great.

SCHINDLER
I’d say I’d get you one but the guy
who made it, he’s probably dead, I
don’t know.

He shrugs like, those are the breaks, too bad. Goeth just
smiles. The others watch the two of them, unsure how they’re
supposed to react.

INT. GOETH’S OFFICE – PLASZOW – LATER – DAY

The others have gone. It’s just Goeth and Schindler now.

Goeth pours glasses of cognac.

GOETH
Something wonderful’s happened, do
you know what it is? Without planning
it, we’ve reached that happy point
in our careers where duty and
financial opportunity meet.

Schindler nods pensively, perhaps in agreement, perhaps at
some other thought. There’s a silence, broken finally by —

SCHINDLER
I go to work the other day, there’s
nobody there. Nobody tells me about
this, I have to find out, I have to
go in, everybody’s gone —

GOETH
They’re not gone, they’re here.

SCHINDLER
They’re mine!

His voice echoes into silence. An acquiescent shrug from
Goeth finally. And a nod; Schindler’s right.

SCHINDLER
Every day that goes by, I’m losing
money. Every worker that is shot,
costs me money — I have to get
somebody else, I have to train them —

GOETH
We’re going to be making so much
money, none of this is going to matter —

SCHINDLER
(cutting him off)
It’s bad business.

GOETH
(shrugs)
Some of the boys went crazy, what’re
you going to do? You’re right, it’s
bad business, but it’s over with,
it’s done.
(pause)
Occasionally, sure, okay, you got to
make an example. But that’s good
business.

Schindler pours himself another shot from the bottle, nurses
it. He’s in a foul mood. They study each other, trying to
determine perhaps who’s more powerful. Eventually —

GOETH
Scherner told me something else about
you.

SCHINDLER
Yeah, what’s that?

GOETH
That you know the meaning of the
word gratitude. That it’s not some
vague thing with you like with some
guys.

SCHINDLER
True.

Goeth tries to put the situation in perspective:

GOETH
You want to stay where you are. You
got things going on the side, things
are good, you don’t want anybody
telling you what to do — I can
understand all that.
(pause)
What you want is your own sub-camp.

Schindler admits it by not disagreeing. Goeth thinks about
it, nods to himself again, then frowns.

GOETH
Do you have any idea what’s involved?
The paperwork alone? Forget you got
to build it all, getting the fucking
permits, that’s enough to drive you
crazy. Then the engineers show up.
They stand around and they argue
about drainage — I’m telling you,
you’ll want to shoot somebody, I’ve
been through it, I know.

SCHINDLER
Well, you’ve been through it. You
know. You could make things easier
for me.

Goeth mulls it over, his shrug saying “maybe, maybe not.” A
silence before —

SCHINDLER
I’d be grateful.

There’s the word Goeth was waiting to hear.

EXT. D.E.F. SUBCAMP SITE – DAY

An SS surveyor, with even paces, measures a distance of the
bare field adjacent to the factory. He sticks a little flag
into the ground.

EXT. D.E.F. SUBCAMP SITE – DAY

A watchtower, half-erected, the little flag still in the
ground. Laborers hammer at it while others roll out barbed
wire fencing. A surveyor supervises the placement of a post
and carefully measures its heights; it has to be nine feet,
exactly.

At a folding table in the middle of the field, Schindler
signs checks made out to the Construction Office, Plaszow —
requisitioning more lumber, cement and hardware.

EXT. CONSTRUCTION OFFICE, PLASZOW – DAY

Plaszow prisoners load the requisitioned building supplies —
the lumber, cement and hardware — onto trucks.

EXT/INT. WAREHOUSE, CRACOW – DAY

The trucks parked not at Schindler’s sub-camp, but at the
loading dock of Goeth’s private warehouse in Cracow. Inside
the building can be glimpsed all kinds of Plaszow goods:
clothes, food, construction equipment, furniture.

Checkbook laid out on the hood of his Mercedes, Schindler
pays for the requested materials a second time — this time
with a check made out to Amon Goeth personally — and hands
it over to his bagman, Hujar.

EXT. D.E.F. SUBCAMP FIELD – DAY

Some SS architects groan over a set of blueprints. Schindler
and an SS officer walk by.

SS OFFICER
You have the Poles beat the Czechs,
you have the Czechs beat the Poles,
that way everybody stays in line.

SCHINDLER
All I have is Jews.

He shrugs, Too bad, what’re you going to do? The SS guy has
to think. Yeah, that’s a problem. Two huge leashed dogs yank
another SS man across their path.

EXT. D.E.F. – DAY

As five hundred Plaszow prisoners are marched back onto the
grounds of D.E.F., any hope they may have had of a more
lenient environment is quickly dashed. The place — completed —
looks like a fortress: barbed-wire, towers, SS guards and
dogs.

INT. D.E.F. FACTORY – DAY

Where once they glimpsed the not too threatening figure of
Oskar Schindler strolling through the factory, the workers
who dare glance up now find armed guards moving past. And
further up, behind the wall of windows, Schindler moving
around, entertaining SS officer.

INT. GOETH’S VILLA – NIGHT

The Rosner brothers in evening clothes, Leo on accordion,
Henry on violin, playing a Strauss melody, trying to keep it
muted, inoffensive. Few of the guests pay attention, which
is fine with them. An SS officer chats with Schindler.

LEO JOHN
— she’s seventy years old, she’s
been there forever — they bomb her
house. Everything’s gone. The
furniture, everything.

SCHINDLER
(well aware the man
is lying)
Thank God she wasn’t there.

Schindler, with yet another girl on his arm, endures the
officer’s lies while sweeping the room with his eyes.

LEO JOHN
I was thinking maybe you could help
her out. Some plates and mugs, some
stew pots, I don’t know. Say half a
gross of everything?

Schindler looks at him for the first time, knowingly.

SCHINDLER
She run an orphanage, your aunt?

LEO JOHN
She’s old. What she can’t use maybe
she can sell.

Schindler’s girl excuses herself to get a drink.

SCHINDLER
You want it sent directly to her or
through you?

LEO JOHN
Through me, I think. I’d like to
enclose a card.

Schindler nods, Done. Both watch his date across the room
getting a drink. As usual, she’s the best-looking on there.

LEO JOHN
Your wife must be a saint.

Whatever tolerance Schindler’s had up to this point with
John leaves his face; the looks he gives him now is pure
contempt.

SCHINDLER
She is.

INT. GOETH’S VILLA – LATER – NIGHT

Goeth’s girl tonight, a Pole, eighteen, nineteen, places a
hand on Schindler’s sleeve. They’re at the important end of
the large table with Goeth, along with Czurda and Leo John
and their girlfriends.

GOETH’S GIRL
You’re not a soldier?

SCHINDLER
No, dear.

CZURDA
There’s a picture. Private Schindler?
Blanket around his shoulders over in
Kharkov?

Everyone laughs.

GOETH
Happened to what’s his name — up in
Warsaw — and he was bigger than
you, Oskar.

CZURDA
Toebbens.

GOETH
Happened to Toebbens. Almost. Himmler
goes up to Warsaw, tells the armament
guys, “Get the fucking Jews out of
Toebbens’ factory and put Toebbens
in the army,” and — “and sent him
to the Front.” I mean, the Front.

Everybody laughs.

GOETH
It’s true. Never happen in Cracow,
though, we all love you too much.

SCHINDLER
I pay you too much.

Another round of laughs, only this time it’s forced.

Everybody knows it’s true, but you don’t say it out loud,
and Schindler knows better. Goeth gives him a look; they’ll
talk later.

EXT. GOETH’S VILLA – LATER – NIGHT

Goeth finds Schindler alone outside smoking a cigarette.

Schindler acknowledges him, but that’s about it. Finally —

SCHINDLER
You held back Stern. You held back
the one man most important to my
business.

GOETH
He’s important to my business.

SCHINDLER
What do you want for him, I’ll give
it to you.

GOETH
I want him.
(turning back)
Come on, let’s go inside, let’s have
a good time.

Goeth heads back inside. Schindler stays outside, finishing
his cigarette.

EXT. PLASZOW – LATER – NIGHT

A folding table outside the prisoners’ barracks. At it,
playing cards, two night sentries. A figure appears out of
the darkness. Schindler. He sets down on the table a fifth
of vodka.

EXT. BARRACKS – LATER – NIGHT

Stern, summoned from his barracks, watches as Schindler digs
through his coat pockets. Nearby, at the table, drinking
now, the sentries. From the hill, the villa, the Rosners’
music, faint, can be heard.

SCHINDLER
Here.

He discreetly hands over to the accountant some cigars
scavenged from the party. From another pocket, he retrieves
and hands over some tins of food — all valuable commodities.

From another pocket, perhaps not so valuable, but then who
knows, a gold lighter. Regarding this last item —

SCHINDLER
This, I don’t know, maybe you can
trade it for something.

STERN
Thank you.

Schindler shrugs, It’s the least I can do. The two stand
around a moment more before Schindler shrugs again, Sorry I
can’t do more. He reaches out, pats Stern on the shoulder,
and, turning to leave.

SCHINDLER
I got to go, I’ll see you.

STERN
Oskar —

Schindler comes back, but, out of embarrassment or — maybe
he wants to get back to the party — waits with some
impatience for Stern to tell whatever it is he wants to tell
him.

Lowering his voice —

STERN
There’s a guy. This thing happened.
Goeth came into the metalworks —

CUT TO:

INT. METALWORKS – PLASZOW – DAY

Goeth moves through the crowded metalworks like a goodnatured
foreman, nodding to this worker, wishing that one a good
morning. He seems satisfied, even pleased, with the level of
production. Goldberg is with him. They reach a particular
bench, a particular worker, and Goeth smiles pleasantly.

GOETH
What are you making?

Not daring to look up, all the worker sees of Goeth is the
starched cuff of his shirt.

LEVARTOV
Hinges, sir.

The rabbi-turned-metalworker gestures with his head to a
pile of hinges on the floor. Goeth nods. And in a tone more
like a friend than anything else —

GOETH
I got some workers coming in
tomorrow… Where the hell they from
again?

GOLDBERG
Yugoslavia.

GOETH
Yugoslavia. I got to make room.

He shrugs apologetically and pulls out a pocket watch.

GOETH
Make me a hinge.

As Goeth times him, Rabbi Levartov works at making a hinge
as though his life depended on it — which it does — cutting
the pieces, wrenching them together, smoothing the edges,
all the while keeping count on his head of the seconds ticking
away.

He finishes and lets it fall onto the others on the floor.

Forty seconds.

GOETH
Another.

Again the rabbi works feverishly — cutting, crimping,
sanding, hearing the seconds ticking in his head — and
finishing in thirty-five. Goeth nods, impressed.

GOETH
That’s very good. What I don’t
understand, though, is — you’ve
been working since what, about six
this morning? Yet such a small pile
of hinges?

He understands perfectly. So does Levartov; he has just
crafted his own death in exactly 75 seconds. Goeth stands
him against the workshop wall and adjusts his shoulders. He
pulls out his pistol, puts it to the rabbi’s head and pulls
the trigger… click.

GOETH
(mumble)
Christ —

Annoyed, Goeth extracts the bullet-magazine, slaps it back
in and puts the barrel back to the man’s head. He pulls the
trigger again… and again there’s a click.

GOETH
God damn it —

He slams the weapon across Levartov’s face and the rabbi
slumps dazed to the floor. Looking up into Goeth’s face, he
knows it’s not over. As Goeth walks away —

CUT BACK TO:

EXT. BARRACKS – CONTINUED – NIGHT

Tight on Schindler, a pensive nod, then a shrug.

SCHINDLER
The guy can turn out a hinge in less
than a minute? Why the long story?

INT. D.E.F. – DAY

Rabbi Levartov, brought over to D.E.F., works at a table
with several others. As Schindler strolls by, the rabbi dares
to speak —

LEVARTOV
Thank you, sir.

Schindler has to think a moment before he can figure out who
the grateful man is.

SCHINDLER
Oh, yeah. You’re welcome.

EXT. PLASZOW – DAY

A dead chicken dangling from Hujar’s hand, evidence of some
kind. Goeth slowly pacing before a work detail of twenty or
so men standing still, silent, in a row.

GOETH
Nobody knows who stole the chicken.
A man walks around with a chicken,
nobody notices this.

No one confesses. Goeth nods, All right, takes a rifle from
a guard and shoots one of the workers at random. With this
added incentive, he waits for someone to tell him who stole
the chicken. No one does.

GOETH
Still nobody knows.

He shrugs, Okay, points the rifle at another worker — and a
boy of fourteen, shuddering and weeping, steps out of line.

GOETH
There we go.

Goeth goes over to the boy, and, like a distant relative to
a small child, tries to get him to look at his face.

GOETH
It was you? You committed this crime?

BOY
No, sir.

GOETH
You know who, though.

The boy nods, weeps, screams —

BOY
Him!

He’s pointing at the dead man. And Goeth astonishes the entire
assembly of workers and guards by believing the boy.

He returns the rifle to the guard and walks away. Hujar stares
after him, then knowingly at the boy.

EXT. PLASZOW – DAY

A truck being loaded with supplies. Schindler signs for it
and, appearing as rushed as he always does, returns the
clipboard to Stern.

SCHINDLER
Yeah, sure, bring him over.

INT. D.E.F. – DAY

Schindler comes down the stairs with Klonowska. As they’re
crossing through the factory —

BOY
Thank you, sir.

SCHINDLER
(distracted)
That’s okay.

INT. MECHANICS’ GARAGE – PLASZOW – DAY

A mechanic peering under the hood of Goeth’s Adler. Leaning
in he accidentally knocks a wrench off the radiator into the
fan and there’s an awful clatter before the engine dies. The
mechanic glances up horrified.

EXT. GOETH’S VILLA – DAY

As servants hoist a heavy, elaborately tooled saddle from
Schindler’s trunk – a gift for Goeth — Schindler sees Stern
coming toward him and glances skyward long-sufferingly.

INT. D.E.F. – DAY

The mechanic, making adjustments to a metal press, glances
up as Schindler moves past.

MECHANIC
Thank —

SCHINDLER
Yeah, yeah, yeah.

EXT. D.E.F. FACTORY – DAY

Across the street stands a nervous young woman in a faded
dress. She seems to be trying to summon the courage to cross
over and onto the factory grounds.

INT. D.E.F. FACTORY – DAY

Just inside the factory, she waits as a guard telephones
Schindler’s office. She can see the wall of windows from
where she’s standing, and Schindler himself as he appears at
it, phone to his ear. He glances down at her disapprovingly
and the guard hangs up.

GUARD
He won’t see you.

INT. APARTMENT – CRACOW – DAY

The woman alone in a dismal room pulling on nylon stockings.

At a mirror, she applies make-up. She slips into a provocative
dress. Puts on heels. A Parisian hat. And looks in the mirror.

INT. D.E.F. – DAY

Schindler waits for her on the landing of the stairs. He
doesn’t recognize her, but smiles to counter the unfortunately
possibility she’s some old girlfriend he’s forgotten. Reaching
him, she offers her hand.

SCHINDLER
Miss Krause.

MISS KRAUSE
How do you do?

He can tell now she doesn’t know him. He seems relieved. He
leads her past Klonowska’s desk and into his office.

INT. SCHINDLER’S OFFICE – DAY

He arranges a chair for her, goes to his liquor cabinet.

SCHINDLER
Pernod? Cognac?

MISS KRAUSE
No, thank you.

He pours himself a drink, warms it in his hands, smiles,
clearly take with her.

SCHINDLER
So.

The grace with which she’s carried herself up to this point
seems to evaporate as she struggles to find the words she
wants.

MISS KRAUSE
They say that no one dies here. They
say your factory is a haven. They
say you are good.

Schindler’s face changes like a wall going up, a mask of
indifference like in the portrait of Adolf Hitler on the
wall behind him.

SCHINDLER
Who says that?

MISS KRAUSE
Everyone.

Schindler glances away from her. He seems weary suddenly,
depressed.

MISS KRAUSE
My name is Regina Perlman, not Elsa
Krause. I’ve been living in Cracow
on false papers since the ghetto
massacre.
(pause)
My parents are in Plaszow. They’re
old. They’re killing old people in
Plaszow now. They bury them up in
the forest. I have no money. I
borrowed these clothes. Will you
bring them here?

Schindler glances back at her, his face hard, cold, and
studies her for a long, long moment before —

SCHINDLER
I don’t do that. You’ve been misled.
I ask one thing: whether or not a
worker has certain skills. That’s
what I ask and that’s what I care
about, get out of my office.

She stares at him, frightened and bewildered. She feels tears
welling up.

SCHINDLER
Cry and I’ll have you arrested, I
swear to God.

She hurries out.

INT. ADMINISTRATION BUILDING – PLASZOW – DAY

Schindler barges into Stern’s office. In a foul and aggressive
mood, he dispenses with pleasantries in order to admonish
the accountant —

SCHINDLER
People die, it’s a fact of life.

Stern has hardly had time to look up from the work on his
desk.

SCHINDLER
He wants to kill everybody? Great.
What am I supposed to do, bring
everybody over? Is that what you
think? Yeah, send them over to
Schindler, send them all. His place
is a “haven,” didn’t you know? It’s
not a factory, it’s not an enterprise
of any kind, it’s a haven for people
with no skills whatsoever.

Stern’s look is all innocence, but Schindler knows better.

SCHINDLER
You think I don’t know what you’re
doing? You’re so quiet all the time?
I know.

STERN
(with concern)
Are you losing money?

SCHINDLER
No, I’m not losing money, that’s not
the point.

STERN
What other point is —

SCHINDLER
(interrupts; yells)
It’s dangerous. It’s dangerous, to
me, personally.

Silence. Schindler tries to settle down. Then —

SCHINDLER
You have to understand, Goeth’s under
enormous pressure. You have to think
of it in his situation. He’s got
this whole place to run, he’s
responsible for everything that goes
on here, all these people — he’s
got a lot of things to worry about.
And he’s got the war. Which brings
out the worst in people. Never the
good, always the bad. Always the
bad. But in normal circumstances, he
wouldn’t be like this. He’d be all
right. There’d be just the good
aspects of him. Which is a wonderful
crook. A guy who loves good food,
good wine, the ladies, making money…

STERN
And killing.

SCHINDLER
I’ll admit it’s a weakness. I don’t
think he enjoys it.
(pause)
All right, he does enjoy it, so what?
What do you expect me to do about
it?

STERN
There’s nothing you can do. I’m not
asking you to do anything. You came
into my office.

But it isn’t Stern who needs convincing; it’s Schindler
himself. It’s doubtful he even realizes this, but it’s clear
to Stern. Schindler sighs either at the predicament itself,
or at the fact that he’s allowed Stern to place him right in
the middle of it. He turns to leave, hesitates. He conducts
a mental search for a name and eventually comes up with it:

SCHINDLER
Perlman, husband and wife.

He unstraps his watch, hands it to Stern.

SCHINDLER
Give it to Goldberg, have him send
them over.

He leaves.

EXT. BALCONY – GOETH’S VILLA – NIGHT

Distant music, Brahms’ lullaby, from the Rosner Brothers way
down by the women’s barracks calming the inhabitants. Up
here on the balcony, Schindler and Goeth, the latter so drunk
he can barely stand up, stare out over Goeth’s dark kingdom.

SCHINDLER
They don’t fear us because we have
the power to kill, they fear us
because we have the power to kill
arbitrarily. A man commits a crime,
he should know better. We have him
killed, we feel pretty good about
it. Or we kill him ourselves and we
feel even better. That’s not power,
though, that’s justice. That’s
different than power. Power is when
we have every justification to kill —
and we don’t. That’s power. That’s
what the emperors had. A man stole
something, he’s brought in before
the emperor, he throws himself down
on the floor, he begs for mercy, he
knows he’s going to die… and the
emperor pardons him. This worthless
man. He lets him go. That’s power.
That’s power.

It seems almost as though this temptation toward restraint,
this image Schindler has brush-stroked of the merciful
emperor, holds some appeal to Goeth. Perhaps, as he stares
out over his camp, he imagines himself in the role, wondering
what the power Schindler describes might feel like.

Eventually, he glances over drunkenly, and almost smiles.

SCHINDLER
Amon the Good.

EXT. STABLES – PLASZOW – DAY

A stable boy works to ready Goeth’s horse before he arrives.

He sticks a bridle into its mouth, throws a riding blanket
onto its back, drags out the saddle Schindler bought Goeth.

Before he can finish, though, Goeth is there. The boy tries
to hide his panic; he knows others have been shot for less.

STABLE BOY
I’m sorry, sir, I’m almost done.

GOETH
Oh, that’s all right.

As Goeth waits, patiently it seems, whistling to himself,
the stable boy tries to mask his confusion.

EXT. PLASZOW – DAY

Goeth gallops around his great domain holding himself high
in the saddle. But everywhere he looks, it seems, he’s
confronted with stoop-shouldered sloth. He forces himself to
smile benevolently.

INT. GOETH’S VILLA – DAY

Goeth comes into his bedroom sweating from his ride. A worker
with a pail and cloth appears in the bathroom doorway.

MORE TO THE FLOOR —

WORKER
I have to report, sir, I’ve been
unable to remove the stains from
your bathtub.

Goeth steps past him to take a look. The worker is almost
shaking, he’s so terrified of the violent reprisal he expects
to receive.

GOETH
What are you using?

WORKER
Soap, sir.

GOETH
(incredulous)
Soap? Not lye?

The worker hasn’t a defense for himself. Goeth’s hand drifts
down as if by instinct to the gun in his holster. He stares
at the worker. He so wants to shoot him he can hardly stand
it, right here, right in the bathroom, put some more stains
on the porcelain. He takes a deep breath to calm himself.

Then gestures grandly.

GOETH
Go ahead, go on, leave. I pardon
you.

The worker hurries out with his pail and cloth. Goeth just
stands there for several moments — trying to feel the power
of emperors he’s supposed to be feeling. But he doesn’t feel
it. All he feels is stupid.

EXT. GOETH’S VILLA – MOMENTS LATER – DAY

The worker hurries across the dying lawn outside the villa.

He dares a glance back, and at that moment, a hand with a
gun appears out the bathroom window and fires.

EXT. BARRACKS, PLASZOW – NIGHT

The sentries at their little table again, drinking Schindler’s
vodka. Nearby, Schindler and Stern outside Stern’s barracks.
The accountant’s tone is hushed:

STERN
If he didn’t steal so much, I could
hide it. If he’s steal with some
discretion…

CUT TO:

STERN’S OFFICE, PLASZOW – DAY

Goldberg delivers a stack of requisitions and invoices, and
leaves without a word. Behind his desk, Stern takes a cursory
look at them and shakes his head in dismay.

INT. GOLDBERG’S OFFICE, PLASZOW – MINUTES LATER – DAY

Stern comes in with the requisitions. Now it’s Goldberg’s
turn to shake his head in dismay; he doesn’t want to hear it —

STERN
There are fifteen thousand people
here —

GOLDBERG
Goeth says there’s twenty-five.

STERN
There are fifteen. He wants to say
sixteen, seventeen, all right, maybe
he can get away with it, but ten
thousand over? It’s stupid.

GOLDBERG
Stern, do me a favor, get out of
here. You want to argue about it, go
tell Goeth.

LOADING DOCK, PLASZOW – DAY

Stern watches truck being unloaded of bags of flour, rice
and other supplies. Goeth nods to Hujar. Hujar calls a halt.

The workers climb down, close up the trucks. And, still half
full, the trucks rumble off.

STERN (V.O.)
The SS auditors keep coming around,
looking over the books — Goeth knows
this —

EXT. CRACOW – DAY

The trucks at the loading dock of Goeth’s private warehouse.

Polish workers, under Hujar’s supervision, throwing down the
“surplus” bags of flour and rice — the supplies for the
phantom 10,000 prisoners.

STERN (V.O.)
— you’d think he’d have the common
sense to see what’s coming. No, he
steals with complete impunity.

CUT BACK TO:

BARRACKS – CONTINUED – NIGHT

They can see Goeth’s villa up on the hill; figures moving
around behind the windows. There’s another party going on up
there. Down here, as he nurses a drink from his flask,
Schindler thinks about what Stern has told him, and eventually
shrugs, Fine, fuck him.

SCHINDLER
So you’ll be rid of him.

But Stern slowly shakes his head ‘no.’

STERN
If Plaszow is closed, they’ll have
to send us somewhere else. Where —
who knows? Gross-Rosen maybe. Maybe
Auschwitz.

There’s the irony — bad as it is, evil as Goeth is, it could
get worse. Schindler understands.

SCHINDLER
I’ll talk to him.

STERN
I think it’s too late.

SCHINDLER
Well, I’ll talk to somebody. I’ll
take care of it.

He hands over to Stern some negotiable items and leaves.

INT. NIGHTCLUB – CRACOW – NIGHT

Schindler and Senior SS Officers Toffel and Scherner share a
table in same smoke-filled nightclub they met in.

SCHINDLER
What’s he done that’s so bad — take
money? That’s a crime? Come on, what
are we here for, to fight a war?
We’re here to make money, all of us.

TOFFEL
There’s taking money and there’s
taking money, you know that. He’s
taking money.

SCHERNER
The place produces nothing. I
shouldn’t say that — nothing it
produces reaches the Army. That’s
not all right.

SCHINDLER
So I’ll talk to him about it.

SCHERNER
He’s a friend of yours, you want to
help him out. Tell me this, though —
has he ever once shown you his
appreciation? I’ve yet to see it.
Never a courtesy. Never a thank you
note. He forgets my wife at Christmas
time —

SCHINDLER
He’s got no style, we all know that.
So, we should hang him for it?

TOFFEL
He’s stealing from you, Oskar.

SCHINDLER
Of course he’s stealing from me,
we’re in business together. What is
this? I’m sitting here, suddenly
everybody’s talking like this is
something bad. We take from each
other, we take from the Army,
everybody uses everybody, it works
out, everybody’s happy.

SCHERNER
Not like him.

Schindler glances away to the floor show, nods to himself.

Glancing back again, he considers the SS men with great
sobriety.

SCHINDLER
Yeah, well, in some eyes it doesn’t
matter the amount we steal, it’s
that we do it. Each of us sitting at
this table.

His thinly veiled threat of exposure escapes neither SS man.

The air seems thicker suddenly.

SCHERNER
He doesn’t deserve your loyalty.
More important, he’s not worth you
making threats against us.

SCHINDLER
Did I threaten anybody here? I stated
a simple fact.

The threat still stands, despite Schindler’s assurance
otherwise, and they all know it. So does Scherner’s threat
back to him, and they all know that, too. But Schindler just
grins, and, glancing away —

SCHINDLER
Come on, let’s watch the girls.

INT. D.E.F. FACTORY – DAY

In addition to the mid-day soup and break, there are bowls
of fruit on the long work tables. At one of them, several
workers are debating which of them will go upstairs to thank
Schindler.

INT. UPSTAIRS OFFICES, D.E.F. – SAME TIME – DAY

In honor of Schindler’s birthday, Goeth has brought over
Stern and the Rosners — the musicians, at the moment,
accompanying the best baritone in the Ukrainian garrison.

Surrounded by his friends and lovers, Schindler cuts a cake.

He receives congratulations from the many SS men present and
the embraces, in turn, of Ingrid and Klonowska and Goeth.

From Stern he gets a handshake.

A Jewish girl from the shop floor is admitted and timidly
approaches the drunken group around Schindler. The SS men
consider her as a curiosity; Schindler, as he would any
beautiful girl. The music breaks and out of the silence comes
a small nervous voice:

FACTORY GIRL
…On behalf of the workers… sir…
I wish you a happy birthday…

She hesitates. She’s surrounded by SS uniforms and swastikas
and holstered guns. Schindler smiles; this is a beautiful
girl.

SCHINDLER
Thank you.

He kisses her on the mouth. The smiles on the faces around
them strain. Stern glances to heaven. Amon cocks his head
like a confused dog. The kiss is broken, finally, and
Schindler smiles again with impunity.

SCHINDLER
Thank them for me.

The girl backs away nodding anxiously; all she wants now is
out before someone — her, Schindler, both of them — gets
shot. Henry Rosner nudges Leo and they begin another song.

And the party tries to resume.

EXT. APPELLPLATZ – PLASZOW – DAWN

Were they not asleep in their barracks, the prisoners would
no doubt shudder at the sight: the clerks are setting up
their folding tables.

Other figures move around the parade ground in the murky
dawn light: these raising a banner, those wheeling filing
cabinets across the Appellplatz, this one wiring a phonograph,
that one saturating a pad with ink from a bottle.

Goldberg, Lord of Lists, moves from table to table handing
out carbons of lists and sharing morning pleasantries with
the clerks.

Some men in white appear like ghosts. A doctor’s kid is
opened, a stethoscope removed. Another cleans the lenses of
his glasses. Someone sharpens a pencil.

EXT. DEPOT – PLASZOW – DAWN

A trainman waving a lantern guides an engineer who’s slowly
backing an empty cattle car along the tracks. It couples to
another empty slatted car with a harsh clank.

EXT. APPELLPLATZ – PLASZOW – DAY

The needle of the phonograph is set down on a pocked 78. The
first scratchy note of a Strauss waltz blare from the camp
speakers.

EXT. BALCONY – GOETH’S VILLA – DAY

In his undershirt and shorts Goeth calmly smokes his first
cigarette of the morning as he listens to the music wafting
up from down below.

Down there on the Appellplatz, the entire population of the
camp has been concentrated, some fifteen thousand prisoners.

EXT. APPELLPLATZ – PLASZOW – DAY

Though the music and banners struggle to evoke a country
fair, the presence of the doctors belie it. A sorting out
process is going on here, the healthy from the unhealthy.

A physician wipes at his brow with his handkerchief as several
prisoners run back and forth, naked, before him. He makes
his selections quickly: this one into this line, that one
into that, and Goldberg moves them recording the names.

Other groups of people run naked in front of other doctors
and clerks. Notations are made and lines are formed. The sun
beats down and the music lies.

EXT. DEPOT – PLASZOW – DAY

Some still pulling their clothes back on, the first wave of
the “unfit” is marched onto the platform. A guard slides
open the gate of a cattle car and this first unlucky group
climbs aboard.

EXT. APPELLPLATZ – PLASZOW – DAY

Behind the camouflage of other women prisoners, Mila
Pfefferberg rubs a beet against her cheeks in desperate hope
of adding a little color to her skin.

Amon Goeth, his shirtsleeves uncharacteristically rolled up,
chats with one of the doctors as another group strips.

Whether the topic is this Health Aktion or the unseasonable
weather is unclear, but he nods approvingly.

PFEFFERBERG (O.S.)
Commandant, sir.

Goeth glances up, finds Poldek among the group taking off
their clothes. Pfefferberg appeals to him with a look that
asks, Do I really have to go through this, and Goeth turns
to a clerk.

GOETH
My mechanic.

Pfefferberg is motioned away from the others; he’s okay, he
doesn’t have to be put through this indignity. He calls out
to the Commandant again —

PFEFFERBERG
What about my wife?

Goeth thinks about it a moment before he nods, Yeah, okay,
sure. A clerk accompanies Pfefferberg and, making a notation
on the way, finds Mila.

EXT. DEPOT – PLASZOW – DAY

The sun is higher, the cattle cars hotter. Prisoners’ arms
stretch out between the slats offering diamonds in exchange
for a sip of water.

EXT. PLASZOW – LATER – DAY

The needle of the phonograph is set down on another record,
a children’s song, “Mammi, kauf mir ein Pferdchen” (Mommy,
buy me a pony).

Children are yanked from the arms of their parents. Wailing
protests quickly escalate to brawls with the guards.

Revolvers and rifles aim at the sun and fire. Music, shots,
wails.

INT. BARRACKS – SAME TIME – DAY

Guards traipse through a deserted barracks peering up at the
rafters, pulling planks from the floor, upending cots, looking
for some children.

EXT. BARRACKS – SAME TIME – DAY

A small figure in red sprints across to another barracks,
past it, to a crude wooden structure beyond it.

INT. MEN’S LATRINES – SAME TIME – DAY

An arm held out to either side, the small girl lowers herself
into a pit into which men have defecated. She works her way
slowly down, trying to find knee and toeholds on the foul
walls, ignoring the flies invading her ears, her nostrils.

Reaching the surface of the muck she lets her feet submerge,
then her ankles, her shins, her knees, before finally

touching harder ground. As she struggles to slow her
breathing, her racing heart, she hears a hallucinatory murmur —

BOY’S VOICE
This is our place.

She sees eyes in the darkness; five other children are already
there.

EXT. DEPOT – PLASZOW – LATER – DAY

Waves of heat rise from the roofs of the long string of cattle
cars. Inside, those who “failed” the medical exams bake as
they wait for the last cars to be filled.

Schindler’s Mercedes pulls up. He climbs out and stares
transfixed. He notices Goeth then, standing with the other
industrialists, Bosch and Madritsch, and strolls over to
them.

GOETH
I tried to call you, I’m running a
little late, this is taking longer
than I thought. Have a drink.

SCHINDLER
What’s going on?

GOETH
I got a shipment of Hungarians coming
in, I got to make room for them.
It’s always something.

He glances away at the train. The idling engine only partially
covers the desperate pleas for water coming from inside the
slatted cars.

GOETH
They’re complaining now? They don’t
know what complaining is.

He grins. Schindler watches as another car is loaded. It’s
like they’re climbing into an oven.

SCHINDLER
What do you say we get your fire
brigade out here and hose down the
cars?

Goeth stares at him blankly, then with a What-will-you-think-
of-next? kind of look, then laughs uproariously and calls
over to Hujar —

GOETH
Bring the fire trucks!

HUJAR
What?

Hujar heard him, he just doesn’t get it. Finally he turns to
another guy and tells him to do it.

STREAM OF WATER CASCADE onto the scalding rooftops. The fire
trucks are there, the hoses firing the cold water at the
cars on the people inside who are roaring their gratitude.

GOETH
This is really cruel, Oskar, you’re
giving them hope. You shouldn’t do
that, that’s cruel.

And amusing, not just to Goeth, but to the other SS officers
standing around as well. Oskar moves away to talk with one
of the firemen. At full extension, apparently the hoses still
only reach halfway down the long line of cars. He returns to
Goeth.

SCHINDLER
I’ve got some 200-meter hoses back
at D.E.F., we can reach the cars
down at the end.

Goeth finds this especially sidesplitting, and hollers —

GOETH
Hujar!

THE D.E.F. HOSES have arrived and are being coupled to
Plaszow’s. As the water drenches the cars further back, the
people inside loudly voice their thanks, and the guards and
officers outside grin at the spectacle.

GUARD
What does he think he’s saving them
from?

The joke takes on new dimension when, from the back of the
D.E.F. trucks, boxes of food are unloaded. Accompanied by
the laughter of the SS, Schindler moves along the string of
cars pushing sausages through the slats.

GOETH
Oh, my God.

Goeth is almost hysterical. But slowly then, slowly, the
amusement on his face fades. His friend moving along the
cars bringing futile mercy to the doomed in front of countless
SS men, laughing or not, is not just behaving recklessly
here, it’s as though he were possessed.

The water rains down on the last car.

EXT. D.E.F. – DAY

A German staff car pulls in across the factory gate, blocking
it. Two Gestapo men climb out.

INT. D.E.F. FACTORY – DAY

The girl who brought Schindler best wishes on his birthday
glances up from her work to the Gestapo crossing through the
factory. They climb the stairs to the upstairs offices and,
moments later, appear behind Schindler’s wall of glass.

INT. SCHINDLER’S OFFICE – DAY

Schindler leaning against his desk, drink in his hand, calmly
tries to assess his humorless arresters.

SCHINDLER
I’m not saying you’ll regret it, but
you might. I want you to be aware of
that.

GESTAPO 1
We’ll risk it.

Schindler glances beyond them to a point outside his office,
to Klonowska. She nods, she knows what to do, she’ll make
the phone calls, call in the favors.

SCHINDLER
All right, sure, it’s a nice day,
I’ll go for a drive with you guys.

He snuffs out his cigarette.

INT. GESTAPO CAR – MOVING – DAY

Settled comfortably in the backseat, Schindler glances idly
out the window. As the car makes a turn, though, he looks
back. Apparently he expected it to turn the other way.

SCHINDLER
Where are we going?

The guys up front don’t answer. Concern, for the first time,
registers on Schindler’s face. The car approaches a building
block long with an ominous sameness to the windows.

INT. MONTELUPICH PRISON – CRACOW – DAY

Schindler is made to empty his pockets, his money, cigarettes,
everything. Around him clerks speak in whispers, as if raised
voices might set off head-splitting echoes along the narrow
monotonous corridors.

INT. MONTELUPICH PRISON – DAY

He’s led down a flight of stairs into a claustrophobic tunnel.
He’s taken past darkened cells. Past shadowy figures crouched
in corners and on the floor.

INT. CELL, MONTELUPICH PRISON – DAY

A water bucket. A waste bucket. No windows. This is not a
cell for dignitaries; this arrest is different.

Schindler, incongruous with the dank surroundings in his
double-breasted suit, slowly paces back and forth before his
cellmate, a soldier who looks like he’s been here forever,
his greatcoat pulled up around his ears for warmth.

SCHINDLER
I violated the Race and Resettlement
Act. Though I doubt they can point
out the actual provision to me.
(pause)
I kissed a Jewish girl.

Schindler forces a smile. His cellmate just stares. Now
there’s a crime; much more impressive, much more serious,
than his own.

INT. OFFICE – MONTELUPICH PRISON – DAY

In a stiff-backed chair sits a very unlikely defender of
racial improprieties — Amon Goeth. To an impassive SS colonel
behind a desk, Goeth tries to highlight extenuating
circumstances:

GOETH
He likes women. He likes good-looking
women. He sees a good-looking woman,
he doesn’t think. This guy has so
many women. They love him. He’s
married, he’s got all these women.
All right, she was Jewish, he
shouldn’t have done it. But you didn’t
see this girl. I saw this girl. This
girl was very good-looking.

Goeth tries to read the guy behind the desk, but his face is
like a wall.

GOETH
They cast a spell on you, you know,
the Jews. You work closely with them
like I do, you see this. They have
this power, it’s like a virus. Some
of my men are infected with this
virus. They should be pitied, not
punished. They should receive
treatment, because this is as real
as typhus. I see this all the time.

Goeth shifts in his chair; he knows he’s not getting anywhere
with this guy. He switches tacts:

GOETH
It’s a matter of money? We can discuss
that. That’d be all right with me.

In the silence that follows, Goeth realizes he has made a
serious error in judgment. This man sitting soberly before
him is one of that rare breed — the unbribable official.

SS COLONEL
You’re offering me a bribe?

GOETH
A “bribe?” No, no, please come on…
a gratuity.

Suddenly the man stands up and salutes, which thoroughly
confuses Goeth since Goeth is his inferior in rank. But he
isn’t saluting Goeth, he’s saluting the officer who has just
stepped into the room behind him.

SCHERNER
Sit down.

The colonel sits back down. Scherner pulls up a chair next
to Goeth.

SCHERNER
Hello, Amon.

GOETH
Sir.

Scherner smiles and allows Goeth to shake his hand, but it’s
clear, even to Goeth himself, that he has fallen from grace.

INT. GOETH’S VILLA – PLASZOW – NIGHT

A tall, thin, gray Waffen SS officer has a request for the
Rosner brothers.

SS OFFICER
I want to hear “Gloomy Sunday” again.

He’s drunk, morose; it seems unlikely he’ll be on his feet
much longer. Indeed, as Henry and Leo Rosner begin the son —
an excessively melancholy tale in which a young man commits
suicide for love — the field officer staggers over to a
chair in the corner of the crowded room and slumps into it.

SCHERNER
We give you Jewish girls at five
marks a day, Oskar, you should kiss
us, not them.

Goeth laughs too loud, drawing a weary glance from Scherner.

Schindler smiles good-naturedly. He’s out, a little worse
for wear perhaps, a little more subdued than usual. Taking
him away from the others, taking him into his confidence —

GOETH
God forbid you ever get a real taste
for Jewish skirt. There’s no future
in it. No future. They don’t have a
future. And that’s not just good old-
fashioned Jew-hating talk. It’s policy
now.

THE THIN GRAY SS OFFICER is back in front of the musicians,
swaying precariously, a drink in his hand —

SS OFFICER
“Gloomy Sunday” again.

Again they play the song. Again he staggers across the crowded
room to his chair in the corner, paying no attention to the
visiting Commandant from Treblinka or anybody else —

TREBLINKA GUY
— We can process at Treblinka, if
everything is working? I don’t know,
maybe two thousand units a day.

He shrugs like it’s nothing, or with modesty, it’s unclear.

Goeth is dully impressed; Schindler, only politely so.

TREBLINKA GUY
Now Auschwitz. Now you’re talking.
What I got is nothing, it’s like
a… a machine. Auschwitz, though,
now there’s a death factory. There,
they know how to do it. There, they
know what they’re doing.

AGAIN THE GRAY OFFICER wavering before Henry and Leo. This
time they don’t wait for him to ask for it —

LEO ROSNER

“Gloomy Sunday” As the man stumbles back to his chair, the
Rosners not only play the song again, they play with it, and
him, this one somber man in the corner staring at them almost
gratefully, wrenching from the song all the sentimentality
they can, as if they could actually drive him to kill himself.

No one else in the room is aware of the exchange going on
between them — this man and this music — which the brothers
play as if it were an invocation. Eventually, though, someone
does become aware, if not of the intention, at least of the
repetition, and interrupts the spell —

GOETH
Enough — Jesus — God —

The music falls apart. The brothers find Goeth in the crowd
looking at them like, Come on, for Christ’s sake play
something else. Which they do — defeated — some innocuous
Von Suppe. Goeth turns back to one of his guests.

Glancing back, as they play, to the corner, the Rosners see
the gloomy SS officer getting slowly up from his chair. He
stands there for a moment, staring at nothing, then slowly
makes his way out onto the balcony where he stands in the
night air, absolutely still, in silhouette to the Rosners.

And, ruining a perfectly good party, he takes out a gun and
shoots himself in the head.

EXT. D.E.F. – DAY

From a distance, Schindler can be seen arguing with an SS
officer who’s trying to hand him papers, orders of some kind,
which the irate industrialist refuses to accept.

Here, closer, carrying blankets and bundles, Schindler’s
workers are marched under heavy guard out of the factory and
its annexes and across the fortified yard.

His people are being taken. Where, is unclear. Schindler
abruptly breaks off the discussion with the SS man, climbs
into his car and drives off.

EXT. FOREST – PLASZOW – LATER – DAY

A creek flowing gently through marshy ground under an umbrella
of trees. Leo John and his five year old son, on their knees
catching tadpoles, seem unaware of, or at least not distracted
by, a ghastly endeavor going on beyond them:

Bodies being exhumed out of the earth, out of the mass graves
in the forest. The dead lay everywhere, victims of the ghetto
massacre, victims of Plaszow.

Arriving, Schindler sees Goeth standing up at the tree line.

Approaching him, furious, he hesitates. He sees a wheelbarrow
trundled by Pfefferberg, a corpse in it. He fears the body
is Mila’s, but then sees her trundling another barrow, another
corpse in it. Goeth calls to Schindler —

GOETH
Can you believe this?

Goeth shakes his head, dismayed. Schindler joins him and
stares at a pyre of bodies built by masked and gagging
workers, layer upon layer.

GOETH
I’m trying to live my life, they
come up with this? I got to find
every body buried up here? And burn
it?

It’s always something. He glances off. The pyre has reached
the height of a man’s shoulder. The workers move around it
dousing it with gasoline.

SCHINDLER
You took my workers.

GOETH
(indignant)
They’re taking mine. When I said
they didn’t have a future I didn’t
mean tomorrow.
(pause)
Auschwitz.

SCHINDLER
When?

GOETH
I don’t know. Soon.

He sighs at the unfairness of it all, the dissolution of his
kingdom. His glance finds his man, Leo John, over at the
stream.

GOETH
This is good. I’m out of business
and he’s catching tadpoles with his
son.

Tight on the gleeful boy with a tadpole in his hand. Behind
him, smoke from the pyre rises into the sky.

INT. D.E.F. FACTORY – NIGHT

Schindler, in silhouette against the wall of glass, stares
down at his deserted factory, his silent machines, the dark
empty spaces.

INT. SCHINDLER’S APARTMENT – DAY

Light pouring in through the windows. White sheets over the
furniture like shrouds over the dead. Schindler’s personal
things are gone.

EXT. POLAND/CZECHOSLOVAKIA BORDER – EVENING

Schindler’s Mercedes, the backseat piled high with suitcases.

A border guard returns his passport to him. The barrier is
lifted and he crosses into Czech countryside.

INT. SQUARE, BRINNLITZ, CZECHOSLOVAKIA – MORNING

A church in the main square of a sleepy hamlet. A priest and
his parishioners, including Emilie Schindler, emerging from
it, morning Mass over.

Some guys outside a bar/café, hanging gout, drinking, notice
the elegantly dressed gentleman outside the town’s only hotel.
They recognize him. They come over.

SCHINDLER
Hey, how you doing?

BRINNLITZ GUY 1
Look at this.

Schindler, the clothes, the car, the suitcases, the great
difference between their respective stations in life.

Somehow their old ne’er-do-well friend has managed to do
quite well, and it amazes them.

Across the square, Emilie has noticed him; and he, her. But
neither makes a move toward the other. Finally she walks
away; which Schindler interprets correctly to mean, Yes,
check into the hotel. He tips the porter extravagantly and
turns back to the guys from the bar.

SCHINDLER
Let me buy you a drink.

INT. BAR – BRINNLITZ – NIGHT

Except for the clothes of the working class clientele, the
scene is reminiscent of the SS nightclub in Cracow:

Schindler, the great entertainer, working his way around the
tables making sure everybody’s got enough to drink, making
sure everybody’s happy. A guy at a table with a girl gestures
him over.

BRINNLITZ GUY 2
Oskar – my friend Lena.

SCHINDLER
How do you do?
(to them both)
What can I get you, what’re you
drinking?

BRINNLITZ GUY 2
Nothing’s changed. Then again,
something has changed, hasn’t it?

SCHINDLER
Things worked out. I made some money
over there, had some laughs, you
know. It was good.

BRINNLITZ GUY 2
Now you’re back.

SCHINDLER
Now I’m back, and you know what I’m
going to do now? I’m going to have a
good time. So are you.

He gestures to the bartender to refill his friend’s and his
date’s drinks, pats the guy on the shoulder and wanders over
to the next table.

GIRL
Who is he?

The guy has to think; not because he doesn’t know, but because
his old friend Oskar is so many things it’s hard to know
which description to use. Finally —

BRINNLITZ GUY 2
He’s a salesman.

INT. HOTEL ROOM – BRINNLITZ – NIGHT

A woman asleep in the bed. The girl from the bar. In his
robe, at the window, Schindler calmly smokes as he stares
out at the NIGHT

EXT. BRINNLITZ – DAWN

The town, off in the distance, nestled against the mountains.

The sun, just coming up. Closer, here, ramshackle structures,
a long abandoned factory of some kind.

Schindler, in leather riding gear, climbs down off a Moto-
Guzzi motorcycle. He slowly wanders around, peers in through
broken windows, wanders around some more.

Tight on his face, torn between conflicting choices, or
realizing there’s no choice, or only one choice, and hating
it.

SCHINDLER
Goddamn it.

EXT. BALCONY, GOETH’S VILLA – PLASZOW – DAY

Schindler and Goeth on the balcony of the villa, drinking.

GOETH
You want these people.

SCHINDLER
These people, my people, I want my
people.

Goeth considers his friend, greatly puzzled. Below them lies
the camp, still operating, at least for now, until the
shipments can be arranged.

GOETH
What are you, Moses? What is this?
Where’s the money in this? What’s
the scam?

SCHINDLER
It’s good business.

GOETH
Oh, this is “good business” in your
opinion. You’ve got to move them,
the equipment, everything to
Czechoslovakia — it doesn’t make
any sense.

SCHINDLER
Look —

GOETH
You’re not telling me something.

SCHINDLER
It’s good for me — I know them, I’m
familiar with them. It’s good for
you — you’ll be compensated. It’s
good for the Army. You know what I’m
going to make?

SCHINDLER
Artillery shells. Tank shells. They
need that. Everybody’s happy.

GOETH
Yeah, sure.

Goeth finds this whole line of reasoning impossible to
believe. He’s sure Schindler’s got something else going on
here he’s not telling him.

GOETH
You’re probably scamming me somehow.
If I’m making a hundred, you got to
be making three.

Schindler admits it with a shrug.

GOETH
If you admit to making three, then
it’s four, actually. But how?

SCHINDLER
I just told you.

GOETH
You did, but you didn’t.

Goeth studies him, searching for the real answer in his face.

He can’t find it.

GOETH
Yeah, all right, don’t tell me, I’ll
go along with it, it’s just irritating
to me I can’t figure it out.

SCHINDLER
All you have to do is tell me what
it’s worth to you. What’s a person
worth to you.

Goeth thinks about it in the silence. Then a slow nod to
himself. He’s going to make some money out of this even if
he can’t figure it out. He smiles.

GOETH
What’s one worth to you? That’s the
question.

HARD CUT TO:

THE KEYS OF A TYPEWRITER slapping a name onto a list — 184
184 LEVARTOV — the letters the size of buildings, the sound
as

loud as gunshots —

TIGHT ON THE FACE OF A MAN — Rabbi Levartov — the hinge-
maker

Goeth tried to kill with a faulty revolver —

THE KEYS HAMMER another name — PERLMAN —

TIGHT ON TWO ELDERLY FACES — a man, a woman — the parents
of “Elsa Krause.” IN HIS SMALL CLUTTERED PLASZOW OFFICE —
Stern transcribes D.E.F.workers’ names from a Reich Labor
Office document to the list in his typewriter, Schindler’s
List.

NAME — A FACE — NAME — FACE — NAME —

TIGHT ON SCHINDLER slowly pacing the six or seven steps
Stern’s cramped office allows, nursing a drink.

SCHINDLER
Poldek Pfefferberg… Mila
Pfefferberg…

THE KEYS typing ‘PFEFFE- PFEFFERBERG’S face, tight. MILA’S
face, tight.

CURRENCY, hard Reichmarks, in a small valise. As Goeth looks
at it, he mumbles to himself —

GOETH
A virus…

MOVING DOWN THE LIST of names, forty, fifty. The sound of
the keys. Stern pulls the sheet out of the machine, rolls in
another, types a name.

EQUIPMENT BEING LOADED onto trucks outside Madritsch’s Plaszow
factory.

SCHINDLER
You can do the same thing I’m doing.
There’s nothing stopping you.

Madritsch is shaking his head ‘no’ to Schindler’s appeal to
make his own list, to get his workers out.

MADRITSCH
I’ve done enough for the Jews.

THE KEYS typing another name — A FACE, a man, A FACE, a
woman, A FACE, a child —

COGNAC SPILLING into a glass. The glass coming up to
Schindler’s mouth, hesitating there.

SCHINDLER
The investors.

A NAME — A FACE — one of the original D.E.F. investors.

ANOTHER NAME — ANOTHER FACE — another of the Jewish
investors.

SCHINDLER
All of them. Szerwitz, his family.

STERN GLANCES UP with a look that asks Schindler if he’s
sure about this one. He is. The keys type SZERWITZ —

TIGHT ON THE FACE of the investor who stole from Schindler,
the one he threatened to have killed by the SS, and the faces
of his sons —

THREE OR FOUR PAGES of names next to the typewriter. Stern,
trying to count them, estimates —

STERN
Four hundred, four fifty —

SCHINDLER
More.

THE TRUNK OF SCHINDLER’S MERCEDES yawning open. He takes a
small valise from it and heads for Goeth’s villa.

THE KEYS typing ROSNER —

TIGHT ON Henry Rosner, the violinist. TIGHT ON his brother,
Leo, the accordionist.

SCHINDLER AND BOSCH, the other Plaszow industrialist. The
same appeal Schindler made to Madritsch; the same answer,
‘no.’

MOVING DOWN another page of names.

STERN (O.S.)
About six hundred —

SCHINDLER (O.S.)
More.

THE SOUND OF THE KEYS OVER the face of a boy, the “chicken
thief.” Over THE FACE OF A GIRL, the one who hid in the pit
of excrement. Over the FACES we’ve never seen.

STERN (O.S.)
Eight hundred, give or take.

SCHINDLER
(angrily)
Give or take what, Stern — how many —
count them.

STERN RUNS HIS FINGER down the pages of names, trying to
count them more precisely.

BLACKJACK, dealt by GOETH. They’re betting diamonds, he and
Schindler. A queen falls and Goeth groans his misfortune.

THE FACE OF Goeth’s maid.

GOETH SWEEPS his hold card against the table, is thrown a
four, sweeps it again and gets a jack.

A NAME we don’t recognize is typed.

A FACE we don’t recognize.

INT. STERN’S OFFICE – PLASZOW – NIGHT

Schindler leafing through the page of names, counting them,
drinking, to the sound of the typewriter. Eventually, quietly
to himself —

SCHINDLER
That’s it.

Stern heard him and stops typing, glances over.

SCHINDLER
You can finish that page.

Stern resumes where he left off, but then hesitates again.

There’s something he doesn’t understand.

STERN
What did Goeth say? You just told
him how many you needed?

It doesn’t sound right. And Schindler doesn’t answer. He’s
avoided telling Stern the details of the deal struck with
Goeth, and balks telling him now. Finally awkwardly —

SCHINDLER
I’m buying them. I’m paying him. I
give him money, he gives me the
people.
(pause)
If you were still working for me I’d
expect you to talk me out of it,
it’s costing me a fortune.

Stern had no idea. And has no idea now what to say.

Schindler shrugs like it’s no big deal, but Stern knows it
is.

SCHINDLER
Give him the list, he’ll sign it,
he’ll get the people ready. I have
to go back to Brinnlitz, to take
care of things on that end, I’ll see
you there.

Stern is really overcome by what this man is doing. What he
can’t figure out is why. Silence. And then —

SCHINDLER
Finish the page.

Stern turns back, does as he’s told. Schindler drinks.

Nothing but the sound of the typewriter keys. And then nothing
at all. The page is done. The rest will die.

INT. TOWN COUNCIL HALL – BRINNLITZ – NIGHT

Schindler in front of a large assembly, party pin in his
lapel, as usual, imposing SS guards on either side of him.

SCHINDLER
This is my home.

He looks out over his audience, the citizens of Brinnlitz,
local government officials, many of them appearing bewildered
by him or the “situation” that has arisen.

SCHINDLER
I was born here, my wife was born
here, my mother is buried here, this
is my home.

His estranged wife is there. So are the guys he was drinking
with.

SCHINDLER
Do you really think I’d bring a
thousand Jewish criminals into my
home?

Everyone seems to breathe sighs of relief as if they’ve been
waiting for him to say this, to dispel the disturbing rumors
they’ve heard.

SCHINDLER
These are skilled munitions workers —
they are essential to the war effort —

The noise begins, his audience’s angry reaction. Raising
pitch of his own voice —

SCHINDLER
— It is my duty to supervise them —
and it is your duty to allow me —

He barely gets it all out before the protests drown him out.

The uproar reaches such a clamoring level there’s no point
in his continuing.

GOETH’S VILLA – PLASZOW – DAY

Goeth, at his writing desk, endures the bureaucratic tedium
of signing memoranda, transport orders, requisitions. He
comes to Schindler’s list, initials each page and signs the
last with no more interest than the others. He hands the
whole stack of paperwork to Marcel Goldberg, Personnel Clerk,
Executor of Lists, Gangster.

INT. OFFICE, ADMINISTRATION BUILDING – PLASZOW – DAY

Goldberg has the signature page of the list in a typewriter.

He carefully aligns it and types his own name in a space
allowed by the bottom margin.

EXT. SCHINDLER’S BRINNLITZ FACTORY SITE – DAY

At a folding table in the middle of the field, Schindler
signs his name to Reich Main Office directives, Evacuation
Board and Department of Economy form, Armaments contracts.

Around him, the new camp is taking shape: Electric fences
are going up, watchtowers, barracks; shipments of heavy
equipment, huge Hilo machines, are being off-loaded from
flatbed train cars; SS engineers stand around frowning at
the lay of the land, some drainage problem no doubt.

EXT. DEPOT – PLASZOW – DAY

A train full of people destined for Auschwitz pulls away
from the platform. As Goldberg gathers his paperwork, a
prisoner approaches him.

PRISONER
Am I on the list?

GOLDBERG
What list is that?

He knows what the prisoner means and the prisoner knows he
knows. He means Schindler’s List.

GOLDBERG
The good list? Well, that depends,
doesn’t it?

The prisoner knows that, too, and discreetly turns over to
Goldberg a couple of diamonds from the lining of his coat.

INT. GOLDBERG’S OFFICE – PLASZOW – NIGHT

Names on a notepad, the first few crossed out. Goldberg types
the next name onto a page of The List, squeezing it into the
upper margin, and crosses that one out on the pad.

He rolls the page down, types another name, tires of the
exacting task, tears the handwritten page of names from the
notepad, crumples it and throws it away.

EXT. BRINNLITZ – NIGHT

Schindler, on his way back to his hotel after a night of
drinking, is jumped by three guys, wrestled to the ground
and brutally kicked.

As the forms of his attackers move away, he catches a glimpse
of one of them — his “friend” who admired his car when he
first arrived back in town.

INT. MECHANICS GARAGE – PLASZOW – DAY

Pfefferberg, his head under the hood of a German staff car,
adjusting the carburetor. Goldberg comes in.

GOLDBERG
Hey, Poldek, how’s it going?
(Pfefferberg ignores
him)
You know about the list? You’re on
it.

PFEFFERBERG
Of course I’m on it.

GOLDBERG
You want to stay on it? What do you
got for me?

Pfefferberg glances up from his work and studies the
blackmailing collaborator for a long moment.

PFEFFERBERG
What do I got for you?

GOLDBERG
Takes diamonds to stay on this list.

Pfefferberg suddenly attacks him with the wrench in his hand,
beating him across the shoulders and head with it.

PFEFFERBERG
I’ll kill you, that’s what I got for
you.

Goldberg goes down, tries to scramble away on his knees, the
blows coming down hard on his back.

GOLDBERG
All right, all right, all right.

He makes it outside the garage and runs.

EXT. DEPOT – PLASZOW – DAY

A cattle car is coupled to another, the pin dropped into
place. On the platform, clerks at folding tables shuffle
paper while others mill around with clipboards, calling out
names.

Thousands of prisoners on the platform, some climbing onto
strings of slatted cars on opposing tracks. Some already in
them, most standing in lines, changing lines, the end of one
virtually indistinguishable from the beginning of another.

Paperwork. Lists of names. Pens in hands checking them off.

Some bound for Brinnlitz, the rest for Auschwitz, if they
can be properly sorted from one another.

A boy is allowed to remain in a line with his father; his
mother is taken to another line composed of women and girls.

This segregation is the only recognizable process going on;
the others, if they exist, are apparent only to the clerks
and guards, and maybe not even to them. It is chaos.

EXT. COUNTRYSIDE – NIGHT

A train snakes across the dark landscape.

INT. CATTLE CAR – MOVING – NIGHT

Stern, wedged into a corner of an impossibly crowded car.

This train may be headed for Schindler’s hometown, but it is
no more comfortable than the others on their way to Auschwitz —
Birkenau.

EXT. CROSSING – POLAND – DAY

The train idles at a crossing in the middle of nowhere.

Moving across the faces peering out from between the slats,
it becomes apparent there are only male prisoners aboard.

Below, on a dirt road, a lone Polish boy stands watching.

Just before an empty train roars past from the other direction
obscuring him, his hand comes up and across his neck making
the gesture of a throat being slit.

EXT. DEPOT – BRINNLITZ – DAY

The train pulls into the small quiet Brinnlitz station. The
doors are opened and the prisoners begin climbing down. At
the far end of the platform, flanked by several SS guards,
stands Schindler. To his customary elegant attire he has
added a careless accouterment, a Tyrolean hat.

EXT. BRINNLITZ – DAY

Leading a procession of nine hundred male Jewish “criminals”
through the center of town, Schindler ignores the angry taunts
and denouncements and the occasional rock hurled by the good
citizens of Brinnlitz lining the streets.

INT. BRINNLITZ MUNITIONS FACTORY – DAY

Under the towering Hilo machines, a meal of soup and bread
awaits the workers. As they’re sitting down to it, Schindler
addresses them —

SCHINDLER
You’ll be interested to know I
received a cable this morning from
the Personnel Office, Plaszow. The
women have left. They should be
arriving here sometime tomorrow.

He sees Stern among the workers, smiles almost imperceptibly,
turns and walks away.

EXT. RURAL POLAND – DAY

A train backs slowly along the tracks toward an arched
gatehouse. The women inside the cattle cars don’t need a
sign to tell them where they are, they’ve seen this place in
nightmares. Pillars of dark smoke rise from the stacks into
the sky.

It’s Auschwitz.

EXT. AUSCHWITZ – DAY

The stunned women climb down from the railcars onto an immense
concourse bisecting the already infamous camp. As they’re
marched across the muddy yard by guards carrying truncheons,
Mila Pfefferberg stares at the place. It’ so big, like a
city, only one in which the inhabitants reside strictly
temporarily. To Mila, under her breath —

WOMAN
Where are the clerks?

So often terrified by the sight of a clerk with a clipboard,
it is the absence of clerks which unsettles the woman now,
as though there remains no further reason to record their
names.

Mila’s eyes return to the constant smoke rising beyond the
birch trees at the settlement’s western end.

INT. OFFICES – BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

Schindler comes out of his office and, passing Stern’s desk,
mumbles —

SCHINDLER
They’re in Auschwitz.

Before Stern can react, Schindler is out the door.

EXT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – MOMENTS LATER – DAY

As he strides across the factory courtyard toward his
motorcycle, Schindler is intercepted by some Gestapo men who
have just emerged from their car.

GESTAPO
Your friend Amon Goeth has been
arrested.

SCHINDLER
(pause)
I’m sorry to hear that.

GESTAPO
There are some things that are
unclear. We need to talk.

SCHINDLER
I’d love to, it’ll have to wait until
I get back. I have to leave.

The looks on their faces tell him he’s not going anywhere.

SCHINDLER
All right, okay, let’s talk.

GESTAPO
In Breslau.

SCHINDLER
Breslau? I can’t go to Breslau. Not
now.

These guys are serious.

EXT. AUSCHWITZ – DAY

A young silver-haired doctor moves slowly along rows of
Schindler’s women, considering each with a pleasant smile
even as he makes his selections, with tiny gestures, for the
death chambers. He pauses in front of one.

YOUNG DOCTOR
How old are you, Mother?

She could lie, and he’d have killed her for it. She could
tell the truth, and he’d have her killed for that, too.

WOMAN
(pause)
Sir, a mistake’s been made. We’re
not supposed to be here, we work for
Oskar Schindler. We’re Schindler
Jews.

The doctor nods pensively, understandingly, it seems. Then —

YOUNG DOCTOR
And who on earth is Oskar Schindler?

He glances around hopelessly. One of the SS guards who
accompanied the women from Plaszow speaks up —

PLASZOW GUARD
He had a factory in Cracow.
Enamelware.

The doctor nods again as if the information were valuable,
as if it meant something to him. It doesn’t.

YOUNG DOCTOR
A potmaker?

He smiles to himself and gets on with the “examination,”
this woman to this line, this other one to that.

INT. CELL – SS PRISON, BRESLAU – DAY

In a dank cell, in uniform, Amon Goeth waits. Schindler is
on his way, hopefully. Maybe he’s already here. Schindler
will vouch for him. Schindler will straighten this out.

INT. SS PRISON, BRESLAU – DAY

In a large room, Schindler sits before a panel of twelve
sober Bureau V investigators and a judge of the SS court.

INVESTIGATOR
Everything you say will be held in
confidence. You are not under
investigation. You are not under
investigation. Mr. Goeth is. He is
being held on charges of embezzlement
and racketeering. You’re here at his
request to corroborate his denials.
Our information onto his financial
speculations comes from many sources.
On his behalf there is only you. We
know you are close friends. We know
this is hard for you. But we must
ask you —

SCHINDLER
He stole our country blind.

INT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

In Schindler’s absence, the workers attempt to operate the
unfamiliar machines, to figure out the unfamiliar process of
manufacturing artillery shells. There’s movement, there’s
noise, the machines are running, but little is being produced.

Untersturmfuhrer Jose Liepold, the Commandant of Schindler’s
new subcamp, moves through the factory conducting an impromptu
inspection. He points out to a guard a kid no more nine,
sorting casings at a work table, and another boy, ten or
eleven, carrying a box.

EXT. BARRACKS – AUSCHWITZ – NIGHT

Mila and another woman cross back toward their barracks
carrying a large heavy pot of broth. Not more than a hundred
meters away stand the birch trees and crematoria, the smoke
pluming even now, at NIGHT out of the darkness appear
“apparitions,” skeletal figures which surround the two women,
or rather the soup pot between them, dipping little metal
cups into it, over and over.

Too startled to speak, Mila can only stare. The apparitions
clamor around the pot a moment more, than furtively slip
back into the same darkness from which they came. Mila and
the other woman exchange a glance. The pot is empty.

MILA
Where’s Schindler now?

INT. HOSS’ HOUSE – AUSCHWITZ – NIGHT

In his en, over cognac, Auschwitz Commandant Rudolf Hoss
considers the documents Schindler has brought: the list, the
travel papers, the Evacuation Board authorization. Hoss nods
at them, then at Schindler.

HOSS
You’re right, a clerical error has
bee made.
(pause)
Let me offer you this in apology for
the inconvenience. I have a shipment
coming in tomorrow, I’ll cut you
three hundred from it. New ones.
These are fresh.

Schindler seems to think about the offer as he nurses his
drink. It’s “tempting.”

HOSS
The train comes, we turn it around,
it’s yours.

SCHINDLER
I appreciate it. I want these.

The ones on the list in Hoss’ hand. Silence. Then:

HOSS
You shouldn’t get stuck on names.

Why, because you get to know them? Because you begin to see
them as human beings? Schindler suddenly has the awful feeling
that the women are already dead. Hoss misinterprets the look.

HOSS
That’s right, it creates a lot of
paperwork.

EXT. CONCOURSE – AUSCHWITZ – DAY

A large assembly of women. Guards calling out names from a
list. As each woman steps out of line, a guard unceremoniously
brushes a swathe of red paint across her clothes. New columns
are formed.

EXT. TRAIN YARD – AUSCHWITZ – DAY

Schindler, standing at the end of the platform stone-faced,
watches the women whose names he is “stuck on,” whose clothes
are slashed with red paint, climbing onto the cattle cars.

As the cars fill, a train on another track arrives. The
“fresh” ones Schindler turned down. As the gates are closed
on the women’s cars, the gates of the others are opened and
the people spill out.

A horrified cry suddenly breaks through the noise of the
engines. One of Schindler’s women, locked in, has seen her
son among those coming down off the train on the opposing
track.

Another cry erupts, and another, another, as the women spot
their children, confiscated from the Brinnlitz factory,
brought here.

Schindler becomes aware of what’s happening and, passing
over other children, tries to corral these particular boys,
many of whom have noticed their mothers now and are echoing
their tortured cries with their own.

Schindler manages to gather them together, the fifteen or
twenty boys, and, in the middle of the crowded platform,
appears to a guard:

SCHINDLER
These are mine. They’re on the list.
These are my workers. They should be
on the train.

He points across to the women’s train, then down to the boys.

SCHINDLER
They’re skilled munition workers.
They’re essential.

The guard glances from the frantic gentleman to the anxious
brook around him. These are essential workers?

GUARD
They’re boys.

SCHINDLER
Yes.

Schindler is nodding his head, trying to think. The women
are shrieking their sons’ names. The guard, who heard it
all, every excuse imaginable, is just turning away when
Schindler thrusts his smallest finger at him.

SCHINDLER
Their fingers. They polish the insides
of shell casings. How else do you
expect me to polish the inside of a
45 millimeter shell casing?

The guard stares at him dumbly. This he hasn’t heard.

EXT. BRINNLITZ CAMP – DAY

Like a mirage in the distance they appear — the women, the
children, guards, Schindler, marching across a field toward
the factory.

At the perimeter of the camp, at the wire, the men watch the
approaching procession. It appears to them that the women
are covered in blood — or — could it be paint? They’re
walking, they’re fine, some are even smiling.

Liepold isn’t smiling. Neither is Schindler; at least not on
the outside.

INT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

The machines are silent, the people are not. Women are in
their husbands’ arms, sons in their fathers’. There’s food
on the tables but it’s largely ignored, the reunion taking
precedence.

INT. SS MESS HALL – SAME TIME – DAY

Schindler stands before the assembled camp guards. They are
seated at the long tables, their food getting cold, waiting
for him to say whatever it is he has to say.

SCHINDLER
Under Department W provisions, it is
unlawful to kill a worker without
just cause. Under the Businesses
Compensation Fund I am entitled to
file damage claims for such deaths.
If you shoot without thinking, you
go to prison and I get paid, that’s
how it works. So there will be no
summary executions here. There will
be no interference of any kind with
production. In hopes of ensuring
that, guards will no longer be allowed
on the factory floor without my
authorization.

His eyes meet Liepold’s, hold his icy stare, then return to
the guards, most of whom look like tired middle-aged
reservists.

SCHINDLER
For your cooperation, you have my
gratitude.

As he steps away he gestures to some kitchen workers. They
tear open cases of schnapps and begin setting the bottles
out on the tables.

INT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

Schindler strolls through his factory looking over the
shoulders of the workers, nodding his approval. The place is
in full operation, finally; the people, having figured out
the complicated Hilos, turning out shells by the caseload.

Schindler pauses at one of the machines.

SCHINDLER
How’s it going?

WORKER
Good. It’s taken a while to calibrate
the machines, but it’s going good
now.

SCHINDLER
Good.

Schindler nods. Then frowns. He leans down and taps at the
crystal of one of the gauges.

SCHINDLER
This isn’t right, is it?

The worker kneels down, takes a look. It looks right to him.

Reaching over, Schindler changes the calibration of the
machine with a cavalier adjustment to a knob — and all the
gauge readings shift.

SCHINDLER
There. That looks right.

He wanders off. The worker stares after him. He’s just screwed
up settings that took weeks to get right.

Schindler comes up to another worker, Levartov, the
hingemaker.

He’s at a machine buffing shells.

SCHINDLER
How’s it going, Rabbi?

LEVARTOV
Good, sir.

Schindler nods, watches him work, eventually glances away.

SCHINDLER
Sun’s going down.

Levartov, following Schindler’s gaze, nods uncertainly.

SCHINDLER
It is Friday, isn’t it?

LEVARTOV
Is it?

SCHINDLER
You should be preparing for the
Sabbath, shouldn’t you? What are you
doing here?

Levartov just stares. It’s been years since he’s been allowed,
indeed inclined, to perform Sabbath rites.

SCHINDLER
I’ve got some wine in my office. Why
don’t we go over there, I’ll give it
to you. Come on, let’s go.

Schindler heads off. The rabbi keeps staring. Schindler
gestures back to him, offering casually —

SCHINDLER
Come on.

Levartov looks around. Finally, he hangs up his goggles and
follows after Schindler.

INT. WORKERS BARRACKS – NIGHT

Under the shadow of a watchtower, among the roof-high tiers
of bunks strung with laundry, Levartov recites Kiddush over
a cup of wine to workers gathered around him.

INT. GUARDS BARRACKS – NIGHT

On their bunks, the guards relax with schnapps, cards and
magazines. One of them becomes distracted by a distant sound.
Some of the others begin to hear it.

GUARD
What is that?

Conversations cease. The barracks gradually becomes quiet,
silent, all the guards straining to hear. It sounds like…
singing. It sounds like Yiddish singing.

EXT. BRINNLITZ CAMP – SAME TIME – NIGHT

On a watchtower, a night sentry, unsure where it’s coming
from, listens to the distant singing. It seems like it’s
emanating from the surrounding hills, from the trees.

INT. LIEPOLD’S QUARTERS – SAME TIME – NIGHT

At his small desk, Liepold is typing a letter, denouncing
Schindler most likely. The pounding keys bury all other sounds
but when he pauses to reread what he’s typed, he hears it,
the singing, faint, far away. He goes to his window, peers
out, listens for a moment more, then hears nothing.

Only the night creatures.

INT. APATMENT BUILDING – BRINNLITZ – NIGHT

The door to an apartment opens from the inside revealing
Emilie Schindler. She coolly considers the visitor on her
doorstep, her estranged husband, looking great as usual,
bottle of wine in his hand, smiling as if nothing is wrong
between them, as if nothing is wrong in the entire world.

INT. EMILIE’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

The two of them at the kitchen table in a modest apartment,
drinking, at least he is. He’s trying to ask her something,
but he’s not sure how to put it, he wants to get it right.

Finally the words just tumble out —

SCHINDLER
I want you to come work for me.

There, he’s said it. But the bewildered look on Emilie’s
face wonders, That’s what was hard for you to say?

SCHINDLER
You don’t have to live with me, I
wouldn’t ask that.
(pause)
It’s a nice place. You’d like it. It
looks awful. You get used to that.

She’s the only woman he’s even known who could make him
nervous just sitting across a table from him, saying nothing.

SCHINDLER
All right —
(now he’ll be honest)
We can spend time together that way.
We can see each other, see how it
goes — without the strain of —
whatever you want to call it when a
man, a husband and a wife go out to
dinner, go have a drink, go to a
party, you know. This way we’ll see
each other at work, there we are,
same place, we see how it goes…

His voice trails off. A shrug adds, What do you think? She
doesn’t answer, but she does love him. He loves her, too.

It really is a shame they’re not right for each other and
never will be.

INT. OFFICES – BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

Stern glances up from his work; Schindler and Emilie have
come in and are walking toward the accountant’s desk. He
gets up.

SCHINDLER
Itzhak Stern, Emilie Schindler. My
wife.

Like the doormen and waiters of Cracow, Stern too never
imagined Schindler was married and has trouble hiding his
astonishment now. He extends his hand to her.

STERN
How do you do?

EMILIE
How do you do?

STERN
Stern is my accountant and friend.

It sounds strange to Stern hearing Schindler actually say
it.

He’s never said it before.

SCHINDLER
Emilie’s offered to work in the
clinic. To… work there.

He’s not sure what she’s going to do there, she’s not a nurse
or a doctor.

STERN
(to her)
That’s very generous of you.

SCHINDLER
Yes.

Schindler nods, looks around, shrugs, offers his arm to his
wife, perhaps to take her on a tour of the place.

STERN
It was a pleasure meeting you.

EMILIE
Pleasure meeting you.

The Schindlers leave. Stern sits back down at his desk and
smiles. He’s never seen Schindler so uncomfortable.

INT. MACHINE SHOP – BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

Schindler comes in carrying a radio. He sets it down on a
bench where Pfefferberg’s working on the frame of a machine
motor with a blow torch.

SCHINDLER
Can you fix it? The radio.

PFEFFERBERG
What’s wrong with it?

SCHINDLER
How should I know? It’s broken. See
what you can do.

He leaves. Pfefferberg plugs it into an outlet and switches
it on. It works perfectly. A waltz.

INT. BARRACKS – BRINNLITZ CAMP – NIGHT

In a male barracks, a group of workers including Pfefferberg
huddle in a corner around the radio, straining to hear through
heavy static a broadcast by the BBC, the Voice of London, a
sketchy report of an Eastern offensive by Allied Russian
forces.

INT. CLINIC – BRINNLITZ CAMP – DAY

As a camp doctor attends to sufferers of dysentery, Schindler
and Emilie sort pairs of prescription glasses from a parcel,
shipped from Cracow. Stern comes in.

STERN
We need to talk.

SCHINDLER
Stern.

Schindler sifts through the glasses still in the box, comes
up with a particular pair and holds them proudly. Not quite
sure what he’s seeing is real —

STERN
They arrived.

SCHINDLER
They arrived, can you believe it?

Stern allows himself a smile, a rare thing for him.

Schindler carefully slips the new glasses onto the
accountant’s face. He looks around the clinic, Stern,
eventually settling on Emilie, crystal clear, standing near
a picture on the wall which, in other circumstances, he’d
find less than reassuring: Jesus, his heart exposed and in
flames.

INT. CLINIC – LATER – DAY

In a quiet corner of the clinic, Schindler concentrates on
the disquieting news Stern has brought him:

STERN
We’ve received a complaint from the
Armaments Board. A very angry
complaint. The artillery shells, the
tank shells, rocket casings —
apparently all of them — have failed
quality-control tests.

Schindler nods soberly. Then dismisses the problem with a
shrug.

SCHINDLER
Well, that’s to be expected. They
have to understand. These are start-
up problems. This isn’t pots and
pans, this is a precise business.
I’ll write them a letter.

STERN
They’re withholding payment.

SCHINDLER
Well, sure. So would I. So would
you. I wouldn’t worry about it. We’ll
get it right one of these days.

But Stern is worried about it.

STERN
There’s a rumor you’ve been going
around miscalibrating the machines.
(Schindler doesn’t
deny it)
I don’t think that’s a good idea.

SCHINDLER
(pause)
No?

Stern slowly shakes his head ‘no.’

STERN
They could close us down.

Schindler eventually nods, in agreement it seems.

SCHINDLER
All right. Call around, find out
where we can buy shells and buy them.
We’ll pass them off as ours.

Stern’s not sure he sees the logic. Whether the shells are
manufactured here or elsewhere, they’ll still eventually
reach their intended destination, into the hearts and heads
of Germany’s enemies.

STERN
I know what you’re saying, but I
don’t see the difference.

SCHINDLER
You don’t? I do. I see a difference.

STERN
You’ll lose money. That’s one
difference.

SCHINDLER
Fewer shells will be made.

That’s another difference. The main one. The only one
Schindler cares about. Silence. Then:

SCHINDLER
Stern, if this factory ever produces
a shell that can actually be fired…
I’ll be very unhappy.

INT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

A nineteen year old boy with his hands in the air stands
terrified before Commandant Liepold and the revolver he
wields. Workers, trying to reduce the likelihood of getting
hit by a stray bullet when Liepold fires on the boy — which
seems a certainty — scramble out of the way.

SCHINDLER (O.S.)
Hey.

Liepold swings the gun around at the voice, pointing it for
a moment at Schindler, who is striding toward him, then aims
the barrel back at the boy’s head, and yells —

LIEPOLD
Department W does not forbid my
presence on the factory floor. That
is a lie.

He waves a document at Schindler, throws it at him.

Schindler doesn’t bother picking it up. Instead, pointing at
the boy, he yells to Liepold —

SCHINDLER
Shoot him. Shoot him!

Liepold is so startled by the command, he doesn’t shoot. He
doesn’t lower the gun, though, either.

SCHINDLER
Shoot him without a hearing. Come
on.

His finger is on the trigger, Liepold is torn, frustrated,
hating the situation he has created. As the moments without
a blast stretch out, both and Schindler begin to settle down.

LIEPOLD
He sabotaged the machine.

Schindler glances to the boy. Then at the silent Hilo beside
him. Part of it is blackened from an electrical fire. To the
boy, concerned —

SCHINDLER
The machine’s broken?

The boy, too terrified to speak, nods.

LIEPOLD
The prisoner is under the jurisdiction
of Section D. I’ll preside over the
hearing.

SCHINDLER
But the machine.

Liepold glances to him. He seems almost distraught by the
destruction of the machine, Schindler.

SCHINDLER
The machine is under the authorization
of the Armaments Inspectorate. I
will preside over the hearing.

Liepold isn’t sure that’s correct, but he has no
documentation, at least not on him, to refute it.

INT. FACTORY – NIGHT

In the machine-tool section, a “judicial table” has been set
up. At it sit Schindler, Liepold, two other SS officers, and
an attractive German girl, a stenographer. The “saboteur,”
the boy, Janek, stands before the court.

JANEK
I’m unfamiliar with the Hilo machines.
I don’t know why I was assigned there.

Commandant Liepold was watching me trying to figure it out.
I switched it on and it blew up. I didn’t do anything. All I
did was turn it on.

Gone tonight is Schindler’s usual shop-floor familiarity. He
studies the boy solemn-faced.

SCHINDLER
If you’re not skilled at armaments
work, you shouldn’t be here.

JANEK
I’m a lathe operator.

Schindler dismisses the defensive comment with a wave of his
hand and gets up. He comes around and paces slowly before
the boy. Eventually, Janek dares to speak again —

JANEK
Sir?

Schindler glances up at him distractedly.

JANEK
I did adjust the pressure controls.

Schindler stops, looks to the panel, and back to the boy.

SCHINDLER
What?

JANEK
I know that much about them. Somebody
had set the pressure controls wrong.
I had to adjust —

Schindler slams the back of his hand so hard across Janek’s
face, the boy almost falls. He’s stunned. So are the others
at the table. They’ve never seen such violence from the
Direktor. He roars —

SCHINDLER
The stupidity of these people. I
wish they were capable of sabotaging
a machine.

Schindler’s hand comes up again and Janek recoils, expecting
another blow. Schindler manages to hold it.

SCHINDLER
Get him out of my sight.

A guard escorts the prisoner away. The panel members glance
among themselves. Is that it? Schindler faces them and groans
in dismay.

INT. LIEPOLD’S QUARTERS – NIGHT

Liepold at his desk, typing again. This time there is no
doubt he is composing a letter denouncing Schindler.

INT. HOUSE – BRINNLITZ – NIGHT

Schindler and Emilie, her arm in his, stand around like
unwanted guests at the party. They probably are. Him anyway.
The other guests include local politicians who fought and
failed to keep his camp out of Brinnlitz.

Whenever his glance meets one of theirs, they smile tightly.

SCHINDLER
(to Emilie)
Isn’t this nice.

It’s not at all nice. He feels out of place, a feeling he’s
not accustomed to. Fortunately, a man in uniform, someone
Schindler can relate to, approaches cheerfully, his hand
outstretched.

RASCH
Oskar, good of you to come.

SCHINDLER
Are you kidding, I never miss a party.
Police Chief Rasch, my wife Emilie.

RASCH
How do you do?

EMILIE
You have a lovely home. It is nice.
Big.

The man lives well.

RASCH
Thank you.

SCHINDLER
I need a drink.

RASCH
Oh, God, you don’t have a drink?

SCHINDLER
(to Emilie)
Wine?

She nods. Schindler goes off in search of the bartender.

Rasch watches after him.

RASCH
Your husband’s a very generous man.

EMILIE
(wry)
He’s always been.

INT. RASCH’S STUDY – LATER – NIGHT

Rasch and Schindler sharing cognac in the privacy of the
Police Chief’s study. Beyond the closed doors, the party
continues, the sounds filtering in.

SCHINDLER
I need guns.

Rasch calmly nurses his drink, his eyes revealing nothing of
what’s going on behind them, except that the statement
requires some elaboration.

SCHINDLER
One of these days the Russians are
going to show up unannounced at my
gate. I’d like the chance to defend
myself. I’d like my wife to have
that chance. My civilian engineers.
My secretary.

RASCH
(pause; then,
philosophically)
We’re losing the war, aren’t we.

SCHINDLER
It kind of looks that way.

RASCH
(blithely)
Pistols?

SCHINDLER
Pistols, rifles, carbines …
(long pause)
I’d be grateful.

Rasch smiles faintly. Yes, he’s familiar, as are officials
throughout much of Europe, with the gratitude of Oskar
Schindler.

INT. MACHINE SHOP – BRINNLITZ CAMP – NIGHT

Poldek Pfefferberg holds up a pistol, feels its weight, points
it.

SCHINDLER
(calmly)
Careful.

Pfefferberg smiles, lowers the gun, kneels beside an open
crate of weapons: a couple of revolvers and rifles, an old
carbine.

INT. FACTORY – DAY

From high above the factory, Stern can be seen among the
machines talking with a worker. The man points up and returns
to his work.

Stern stares up, puzzled. He locates a ladder that connects
the shop-floor to a series of overhead planks and, with
trepidation, climbs.

He reaches a shaky landing high above the machines, navigates
the primitive catwalks with great care, comes to a large
water tank near the workshop ceiling.

SCHINDLER
Stern.

Above the rim of the tank, amid rising steam, Schindler’s
head appears. Then disappears. Stern climbs a set of rungs
on the tank, reaches the top and finds inside, lolling in
the steaming water, Schindler and the blonde stenographer
from the trial.

STERN
Excuse me.

Neither Schindler nor the blonde seems the least bit
embarrassed. Only Stern. He tries hard to pretend the girl
isn’t there, but he just can’t.

STERN
I’ll talk to you later.

SCHINDLER
No, no, what, what is it?

Schindler floats over closer to him, waits for him to report
whatever it is he has come to report, leans closer. Finally,
quietly —

STERN
Do you have any money I don’t know
about? Hidden away someplace?

Schindler thinks long and hard…

SCHINDLER
No.

Silence except for the gently lapping water. Half-joking —

SCHINDLER
Why, am I broke?

Stern glances away, doesn’t answer, just stares off. And a
slight, slight smile, a gambler’s philosophical smile upon
being purged of his wealth, appears on Schindler’s face.

EXT. RURAL BRINNLITZ – DAY

In the distance, a lone boxcar, stark against the winter
landscape. There are patches of snow on the ground. A cold
wind blows through bare trees.

SCHINDLER (V.O.)
Poldek.

INT. MACHINE SHOP – BRINNLITZ CAMP – DAY

Tight on Poldek Pfefferberg’s eyes behind a welder’s mask.

He turns from his work to the voice, welding torch in his
hand.

EXT. RURAL BRINNLITZ – DAY

The torch firing at ice as hard as metal, blue flame, white
steam. Pfefferberg’s eyes behind the mask again,
concentrating.

Around the abandoned boxcar, in the gruesome cold, stand
Schindler, Emilie, a doctor, some workers and some SS guards,
watching, waiting.

Pfefferberg steps back. Sledge hammers pound at locks.

Hands pull at levers. The doors begin to slide.

Out of darkness, from inside the boxcar as the doors slide
open, Schindler’s face is revealed, tight. He stares for an
interminable moment before walking slowly away.

Inside the boxcar is a tangle of limbs, a pyramid of corpses,
frozen white.

From a distance, a tableau: the boxcar, the workers and guards
and Emilie outside it, Schindler, off to himself several
steps away, all of them still as statues.

EXT. CATHOLIC CEMETERY – OUTSIDE BRINNLITZ – DAY

Beyond a country church, among the stone markers of a small
cemetery, walk Schindler and a priest.

SCHINDLER
It’s been suggested I cremate them
in my furnaces. As a Catholic I will
not. As a human being I will not.

The priest nods; he seems relatively empathic. He offers an
alternative —

PRIEST
There’s an area beyond the church
reserved for the burial of suicides.
Maybe I can convince the parish
council to allow them to be buried
there.

SCHINDLER
These aren’t suicides.

The priest knows that. But he also knows that the provisions
of Canon Law regarding who can and cannot be buried in
consecrated ground are narrow.

SCHINDLER
These are victims of a great murder.

INT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

In a corner of the factory, workers hammer at pine lumber.

They are building coffins.

EXT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

As workers harness horses to carts, others hoist the coffins
into them. Schindler is there, watching. He glances up at
one of the guard towers, expecting, perhaps, to be felled by
a bullet.

EXT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

Beyond the wire, Rabbi Levartov leads the horse-drawn carts.

Around him walk a minyan — a quorum of ten males necessary
for the rite. A few guards lag behind.

INT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – SAME TIME – DAY

Work continues, but it’s apparent in their eyes they are
only physically here; in spirit they are all walking alongside
the carts, one great moral force.

The roar of a machine suddenly, inexplicably, dies. Then
another. And another. Schindler, standing at the main power
panel, pulls the last of the switches, and the factory plunges
into absolute silence.

EXT. CATHOLIC CEMETERY – DAY

Just beyond the perimeter of the Catholic cemetery, the minyan
quickly and quietly recites Kaddish over the dead as their
coffins are lowered into individual graves.

Then, there is only a low breathing of wind.

EXT. BRINNLITZ CAMP – ANOTHER DAY

Amon Goeth, in civilian clothes, emerges from a car. His
eyes, sallow from inadequate sleep, sweep across the fortified
compound with envy. It’s a nice place Oskar’s got here.

INT. OFFICE – BRINNLITZ FACTORY – SAME TIME – DAY

Stern, at a window, stares down at Goeth beside his car.
Softly, gravely —

STERN
What’s he doing here?

Schindler appears beside Stern, glances down. He’s lost
weight, Goeth. The old suit he wears seems too big for him.

Alone down there he seems disoriented.

SCHINDLER
Probably looking for a handout.

INT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

Workers glance up at a horrible apparition from the pit of
their foulest dreams — Amon Goeth crossing through the
factory.

Schindler, his arm around the killer’s shoulder as if he
were a long lost brother, leads him across the shop-floor,
proudly pointing out to him the huge thundering Hilo machines.

INT. OFFICES, BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

Schindler takes an old suitcase from his office closet, sets
it on his desk, snaps it open revealing clothes, Goeth’s
uniforms, his medals. The ex-Oberstrumfuhrer touches the
fabric gently, then glances up gratefully to his friend.

GOETH
Thank you.

INT. OUTER OFFICES – BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

Beyond the frosted glass of Schindler’s office door, Stern
can see the wavering forms of the two Nazi Party members
sharing cognac and stories.

INT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – DAY

Warmed by cognac and friendship, Goeth comes through the
factory again carrying the suitcase, Schindler at his side,
steering him to some degree.

Goeth’s hand comes up to his cheek as if to brush away a
bothersome fly. But it isn’t a fly. One of the workers has
spit on him. He turns in disbelief.

Silence as his hand drops to his side, to the holster he
forgets isn’t there. He glances around for SS guards… who
aren’t there. He looks to Schindler, thoroughly confused,
and whispers —

GOETH
Where are the guards?

SCHINDLER
The guards aren’t allowed on the
factory floor. They make my workers
nervous.

Goeth stares at him bewildered. Then again at the worker who
spit. Then at other workers, the resolve in their eyes.

They know he has no power here, and sense he has no power
anywhere. His own eyes drift to a woman with yarn in her
lap, knitting needles in her hands. Is this a dream?

SCHINDLER
I’ll discipline him later.

Schindler good-naturedly throws an arm around Goeth’s shoulder
and leads him away. The workers watch as the two Germans
disappear out the factory doors.

INT. GUARDS’ BARRACKS – EVENING

A guard slowly turns the dial of a radio, finding and losing
in static several different voices in several languages,
none of them lasting more than a moment.

Depression hangs over the barracks. Most of the guards are
straining to hear the news they’ve been fearing for some
time now, some on their bunks just staring, one at a window
peering out at the black face of a forest as if expecting,
at any moment, to see Russian or American troops appear.

INT. WORKER’S BARRACKS – SAME TIME – EVENING

Another radio. Workers, like the guards, straining to hear.

The dial finds, faint, mired in static, the idiosyncratic
voice of Winston Churchill.

INT. LIEPOLD’S QUARTERS – SAME TIME – EVENING

Schindler on Liepold’s doorstep. The two men considering
each other across the threshold. Radio static filters out
from Liepold’s room. The word “Eisenhower” cuts through before
the speaker’s voice is buried again.

SCHINDLER
It’s time the guards came into the
factory.

He turns and walks away.

INT. BRINNLITZ FACTORY – NIGHT

All twelve hundred workers and all the guards are gathered
for the first time on the factory floor. Tension and
uncertainty surround them. It’s ominously quiet. Then —

SCHINDLER
The unconditional surrender of Germany
has just been announced. At midnight
tonight the war is over.

It is not his intention to elicit celebration. Indeed, his
words, echoing and fading in the factory, echo the doubts
they all feel.

SCHINDLER
Tomorrow, you’ll begin the process
of looking for survivors of your
families. In many cases you won’t
find them. After six long years of
murder, victims are being mourned
throughout the world.

Not by Untersturmfuhrer Liepold. He stands with his men,
dying to lift his rifle and fire.

SCHINDLER
We’ve survived. Some of you have
come up to me and thanked me. Thank
yourselves. Thank your fearless Stern,
and others among you, who, worrying
about you, have faced death every
moment.
(glancing away)
Thank you.

He’s looking at the guards, thanking them, which thoroughly
confuses the workers. Just when they thought they knew where
his sentiments lay, he’s thanking guards.

SCHINDLER
You’ve shown extraordinary discipline.
You’ve behaved humanely here. You
should be proud.

Or is he attempting to adjust reality, to destroy the SS as
combatants, to alter the self-image of both the guards and
the prisoners? Moving across the SS men’s faces, they remain
inscrutable. Schindler turns his attention back to the
workers, and, not at all like a confession, but rather like
simple statements of fact:

SCHINDLER
I’m a member of the Nazi party. I’m
a munitions manufacturer. I’m a
profiteer of slave labor, I’m a
criminal. At midnight, you will be
free and I will be hunted.
(pause)
I’ll remain with you until five
minutes after midnight After which
time, and I hope you’ll forgive me,
I have to flee.

That worries the workers. Whenever he leaves, something
terrible always seems to happen.

SCHINDLER
In memory of the countless victims
among your people, I ask us to observe
three minutes of silence.

In the quiet, in the silence, drifting slowly across the
faces of the workers — the elderly, the lame, teenagers,
wives beside husbands, children beside their parents, families
together — it becomes clear, if it wasn’t before, that both
as a prison and a manufacturing enterprise, the Brinnlitz
camp has been one long sustained confidence game.

Schindler has never stood still so long in his life. He does
now, though, framed by his giant Hilo machines, silent at
the close of the noisiest of wars, his head bowed, mourning
the many dead.

When he finally does look up he sees that he is the last to
do so. The faces, few of which he recognizes, are all looking
at him. He turns to speak to the guards along the wall again.

SCHINDLER
I know you’ve received orders from
our Commandant — which he has
received from his superiors — to
dispose of the population of this
camp.

Apprehension spreads across the factory like a wave.

Pfefferberg tightens his grip on the pistol under his coat.

His ragtag irregulars do the same, the rest of their ersatz
“arsenal” concealed behind a machine. To the guards:

SCHINDLER
Now would be the time to do it.
They’re all here. This is your
opportunity.

The guards hold their weapons, as they have from the moment
they arrived here tonight, at attention, waiting it seems,
to be given the official order from their Commander, Liepold,
who appears ready to give it.

SCHINDLER
Or…
(he shrugs)
…you could leave. And return to
your families as men instead of
murderers.

Long, long silence. Finally, one of the guards slowly lowers
his rifle, breaks ranks and walks away. Then another. And
another. And another. Another.

When the last is gone, the workers consider Liepold. He
appears more an oddity than a threat. He is more an oddity
than a threat. And he knows it. He turns and leaves.

EXT. BRINNLITZ CAMP – NIGHT

A watchtower. Abandoned. The perimeter wire. No sentries.

The guard barracks. Deserted. The SS is long gone.

EXT. COURTYARD – BRINNLITZ CAMP – NIGHT

Schindler and Emilie emerge from his quarters, each carrying
a small suitcase. In the dark, some distance away from his
Mercedes, stand all twelve hundred workers. As Schindler and
his wife cross the courtyard to the car, Stern and Levartov
approach. The rabbi hands him some papers.

LEVARTOV
We’ve written a letter trying to
explain things. In case you’re
captured. Every worker has signed
it.

Schindler sees a list of signatures beginning below the
typewritten text and continuing for several pages. He pockets
it, this new list of names.

SCHINDLER
Thank you.

Stern steps forward and places a ring in Schindler’s hand.

It’s a gold band, like a wedding ring. Schindler notices an
inscription inside it.

STERN
It’s Hebrew. It says, ‘Whoever saves
one life, saves the world.’

Schindler slips the ring onto a finger, admires it a moment,
nods his thanks, then seems to withdraw.

SCHINDLER
(to himself)
I could’ve got more out…

Stern isn’t sure he heard right. Schindler steps away from
him, from his wife, from the car, from the workers.

SCHINDLER
(to himself)
I could’ve got more… if I’d just…
I don’t know, if I’d just… I
could’ve got more…

STERN
Oskar, there are twelve hundred people
who are alive because of you. Look
at them.

He can’t.

SCHINDLER
If I’d made more money… I threw
away so much money, you have no idea.
If I’d just…

STERN
There will be generations because of
what you did.

SCHINDLER
I didn’t do enough.

STERN
You did so much.

Schindler starts to lose it, the tears coming. Stern, too.

The look on Schindler’s face as his eyes sweep across the
faces of the workers is one of apology, begging them to
forgive him for not doing more.

SCHINDLER
This car. Goeth would’ve bought this
car. Why did I keep the car? Ten
people, right there, ten more I
could’ve got.
(looking around)
This pin —

He rips the elaborate Hakenkreus, the swastika, from his
lapel and holds it out to Stern pathetically.

SCHINDLER
Two people. This is gold. Two more
people. He would’ve given me two for
it. At least one. He would’ve given
me one. One more. One more person. A
person, Stern. For this. One more. I
could’ve gotten one more person I
didn’t.

He completely breaks down, weeping convulsively, the emotion
he’s been holding in for years spilling out, the guilt
consuming him.

SCHINDLER
They killed so many people…
(Stern, weeping too,
embraces him)
They killed so many people…

From above, from a watchtower, Stern can be seen down below,
trying to comfort Schindler. Eventually, they separate, and
Schindler and Emilie climb into the Mercedes. It slowly pulls
out through the gates of the camp. And drives away.

EXT. BRINNLITZ – NIGHT

A panzer emerges from the treeline well beyond the wire of
the camp and just sits there growling like a beast. Suddenly
it fires a shell at nothing in particular, at the night —
an exhibition of random spite — then turns around and rolls
back into the forest.

EXT. BRINNLITZ CAMP – SAME TIME – NIGHT

From a watchtower, a couple of workers, having witnessed the
tank’s display of impotent might, can make little sense of
it. Below, many of the workers mill around the yard, waiting
to be liberated. No one seems to know what else to do.

EXT. BRINNLITZ – DAY

Some Czech partisans emerge from the forest. They come down

the hill and casually approach the camp. Reaching the wire,
they’re met by Pfefferberg and some other workers, rifles
slung over their shoulders. Through the fence —

PARTISAN
It’s all over.

PFEFFERBERG
We know.

PARTISAN
(pause)
So what are you doing? You’re free
to go home.

PFEFFERBERG
When the Russians arrive. Until then
we’re staying here.

The partisan shrugs, Suit yourself, and wanders back toward
the trees with his friends.

EXT. BRINNLITZ CAMP – NIGHT

Five headlights appear out of the night, five motorcycles
marked with the SS Death’s-head insignia. They turn onto the
road leading to the camp gate and park, the riders shutting
off the engines.

SS NCO
Hello?

Shapes materialize out of the darkness within the camp.

Several armed and dangerous Jews.

EXT. BRINNLITZ CAMP – LATER – NIGHT

As the cyclists fill their tanks with gasoline borrowed from
the camp, the workers keep their rifles pointed at them. The
NCO in charge lines the gas cans neatly back up against the
wire.

NCO IN CHARGE
Thank you very much.

He climbs onto his motorcycle. The others climb onto theirs.

And drive away.

EXT. BRINNLITZ CAMP – DAWN

A lone Russian officer on horseback, tattered coat, rope for
reins, emerges from the forest. As he draws nearer, it becomes
apparent to the workers assembling on the camp yard, that
the horse is a mere pony, the Russian’s feet in stirrups
nearly touching the ground beneath the animal’s skinny
abdomen.

He reaches the camp, climbs easily down from the horse and,
in a loud voice, addresses the hundreds of workers standing
at the fence:

RUSSIAN
You have been liberated by the Soviet
Army.

This is it? This one man? The workers wait for him to say
more. He waits for them to move, to leave, to go home. Finally —

RUSSIAN
What’s wrong?

A few of the workers come out from behind the fence to talk
with him.

WORKER
Have you been in Poland?

RUSSIAN
I just came from Poland.

WORKER
Are there any Jews left?

The Russian has to think. Eventually he shrugs, ‘no,’ not
that he saw, and climbs back onto his pony to leave.

WORKER
Where should we go?

RUSSIAN
I don’t know. Don’t go east, that’s
for sure, they hate you there.
(pause)
I wouldn’t go west either if I were
you.

He shrugs and gives his little horse a kick in the ribs.

WORKER
We could use some food.

The Russian looks confused, glances off. The quiet hamlet of
Brinnlitz sits there against the mountains not half a mile
away.

RUSSIAN
Isn’t that a town over there?

Of course it is. But the idea that they could simply walk
over there is completely foreign to them. The Russian rides
away.

EXT. BRINNLITZ – DAY

All twelve hundred of them, a great moving crowd coming
forward, crosses the land laying between the camp, behind
them, and the town, in front of them.

Tight on the FACE of one of the MEN.

Tight on TYPEWRITER KEYS rapping his NAME.

Tight on A PEN scratching out the words, “METAL POLISHER” on
a form.

Tight on the KEYS typing, “TEACHER.” Tight on his FACE in
the crowd.

Tight on the face of a woman in the moving crowd. The keys
typing her name. The pen scratching out “LATHE OPERATOR.”
The keys typing “PHYSICIAN.” Tight on her face.

Tight on a man’s face. His name. Pen scratching out
“ELECTRICIAN.” Keys typing “MUSICIAN.” His face.

A woman’s face. Name. Pen scratching out “MACHINIST.” Keys
typing “MERCHANT.” Face.

“CARPENTER.” Face. “SECRETARY.” Face. “DRAFTSMAN.” Face.

“PAINTER.” Face. “JOURNALIST.” Face. “NURSE.” Face.

“JUDGE.” Face. Face. Face. Face.

HARD CUT TO:

EXT. FRANKFURT – DUSK (1955)

A street of apartment buildings in a working class
neighborhood of the city.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING – DUSK

The door to a modest apartment opens revealing Oskar
Schindler. The elegant clothes are gone but the familiar
smile remains.

SCHINDLER
Hey, how you doing?

It’s Poldek Pfefferberg out in the hall.

PFEFFERBERG
Good. How’s it going?

SCHINDLER
Things are great, things are great.

Things don’t look so great. Schindler isn’t penniless, but
he’s not far from it, living alone in the one room behind
him.

PFEFFERBERG
What are you doing?

SCHINDLER
I’m having a drink, come on in, we’ll
have a drink.

PFEFFERBERG
I mean where have you been? Nobody’s
seen you around for a while.

SCHINDLER
(puzzled)
I’ve been here. I guess I haven’t
been out.

PFEFFERBERG
I thought maybe you’d like to come
over, have some dinner, some of the
people are coming over.

SCHINDLER
Yeah? Yeah, that’d be nice, let me
get my coat.

Pfefferberg waits out in the hall as Schindler disappears
inside for a minute. The legend below appears:

AMON GOETH WAS ARRESTED AGAIN, WHILE A PATIENT IN AN
SANITARIUM AT BAD TOLZ. GIVING THE NATIONAL SOCIALIST SALUTE,
HE WAS HANGED IN CRACOW FOR CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY.

Schindler reappears wearing a coat, steps out into the hall,
forgets something, turns around and goes back in.

OSKAR SCHINDLER FAILED AT SEVERAL BUSINESSES, AND MARRIAGE,
AFTER THE WAR IN 1958, HE WAS DECLARED A RIGHTEOUS PERSON BY
THE COUNCIL OF THE YAD VASHEM IN JERUSALEM, AND INVITED TO
PLANT A TREE IN THE AVENUE OF THE RIGHTEOUS. IT GROWS THERE
STILL.

He comes back out with a nice bottle of wine in his hand,
and, as he and Pfefferberg disappear down the stairs together —

SCHINDLER’S VOICE
Mila’s good?

PFEFFERBERG’S VOICE
She’s good.

SCHINDLER’S VOICE
Kids are good? Let’s stop at a store
on the way so I can buy them
something.

PFEFFERBERG’S VOICE
They don’t need anything. They just
want to see you.

SCHINDLER’S VOICE
Yeah, I know. I’d like to pick up
something for them. It’ll only take
a minute.

Their voices face. Against the empty hallway appears a faint
trace of the image of the factory workers, through the wire,
walking away from the Brinnlitz camp. And the legend:

THERE ARE FEWER THAN FIVE THOUSAND JEWS LEFT ALIVE IN POLAND
TODAY. THERE ARE MORE THAN SIX THOUSAND DESCENDANTS OF THE
SCHINDLER JEWS.

THE END

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: