Apt Pupil Page #2

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Pause.

DUSSANDER:

I'd be out of my mind to let an insane boy

like you into my home.

Pause.

DUSSANDER (CONT'D)

Is that what you want, to come into my home?

So be it. There is no arguing with crazy

people.

Dussander turns and steps back through the screen door. He

stops at the threshold of the house and turns. He is holding

the screen door open with one leg, the front door open with the

other. He looks straight ahead. A moment later, Todd steps

into the house.

INT. DUSSANDER'S HOUSE - DAY

Dussander's home is what you would expect of a single, poor, old

man. Nothing fancy, nothing out of the ordinary. Todd looks

around, perhaps half-expecting to find a Nazi flag or an oil

painting of Der Fuehrer hanging above the mantle. But he

doesn't, and moves into the living room where an old picture of

a woman sits framed on an end table.

DUSSANDER:

My wife. She died in 1955 of lung disease.

At that time I was working at the Menschler

Motor Works in Essen. I was heartbroken.

Todd's attention drifts away and his fingers slip over to a

lampshade next to the photograph. He begins to feel it as

though he were inspecting it for something.

DUSSANDER (CONT'D)

Stop that!

Todd jumps back a little but then recovers.

TODD:

Tell me, wasn't it Ilse Koch who made the

lampshades out of human skin?

DUSSANDER:

Now I don't know what you're talking about.

TODD:

Sure you do, Mr. Dussander.

DUSSANDER:

Denker. Denker. Denker. You don't listen,

boy. The television has fried your brain.

Pause.

TODD:

Your hands are shaking.

DUSSANDER:

Yes, they're shaking. I'm old. We all

shake. You are most tiresome, and rude. Now

if you have a point I wish you'd come to it.

TODD:

We're in no rush. If I thought you had

plans, I'd say cancel them, but since I know

you don't...

DUSSANDER:

You know nothing of my business --

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