all right. all right. i'm coming. let it go!
a boy. i don't need anything, boy. can't you read? i thought all american boys could read. don't be a nuisance, now. good day.
give me my newspaper.
my name is denker. see? denker. perhaps you cannot read after all. what a pity. good day.
listen, boy. i don't know what is the matter with you. but i don't have time for this game. now, get out of here before i call the police.
fine.
you get away from this house, god damn you! i'll beat you all the way home.
you'll do no such thing.
i'd be out of my mind to let an insane boy like you into my home.
is that what you want, to come into my home? so be it. there is no arguing with crazy people.
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.
stop that!
now i don't know what you're talking about.
denker. denker. denker. you don't listen, boy. the television has fried your brain.
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.
you know nothing of my business --
you have been following me?
perhaps for me you made an exception.
oh, yes, i see now. as i am this ex-nazi fellow, as you say, then this must be the part where i offer you my hidden stash of gold, taken from the mouths of old jewish men, of course, which i keep buried in the basement. isn't that right, boy? well, i'm afraid you're wasting your time. i have no money. if i did i might even give you some just to be done with this nonsense.
do you? good for you.
your what?
yes, what are you telling me for?
accelerated?
i see.
why do i care about this?
i am sure you trouble your parents to no end.
you told your parents about me, then?
i think you're crackers, but go on. i'm riveted.
what are you doing?
all of this.  because of a rain coat?
you took photographs of me?
clever boy.
you.  put dust on my mailbox? for fingerprints? you took photographs of me? what else did you do?.  i don't believe any of this.
bourbon.
would you care for a drink, boy?
no kok.
milk.
is that right?
you should be a detective.
good gott.
you see? it's milk, boy. from dairylee farms. on the carton is a picture of a smiling cow.
and two missing children. boy what you have done, i have to explain this to you because clearly you don't understand, what you have done is a violation.
yes.
that fucking name. enough of that. i demand it.
i demand --
boy, i will tell you this once more, and for the last time. my name is arthur denker. it has never been anything else. it has never even been americanized. if you must know, and apparently you must, i was named by my father who greatly admired the stories of arthur conan doyle. i did serve in the reserves, i admit, and in the late thirties, when i was first married, i supported hitler. i supported him most, i suppose, because for the first time in years there was work and there was tobacco. . would you like a cigarette?
nicotine gum.
anyway, hitler lost his mind at the end, directing phantom armies at the whim of his astrologer. he even gave his dog, blondi, a death capsule. on may 2nd, 1945, my regiment surrendered to the americans. i remember that a private named gonzales gave me a chocolate bar. i wept.
i was interned at essen where i was treated very well. we listened to the nuremberg trials on the radio and when goering committed suicide, i bought half a bottle of schnaps and got drunk. when i was released, i put wheels on cars at the essen motor works until i retired in 1963. in 1967 i emigrated here, to california, and became a u.s. citizen. i am as american as you are. i vote. no buenos aires, no berlin, no koo-ba. and that's it, my whole story. i hope you're satisfied. but if not, it's, as you say, tough shit for you. now, you go. enough of this.
oh, to hell with this and to hell with you. i'm calling the police. your father is going to beat your behind when he picks you up at the police station.
well, they should start. i'm calling.
this is unforgivable. do you know the things you're accusing me of?
if you don't want money, what do you want?
hear about what?
everything?
you're a monster.
how could you ask me to remember such things? i can barely remember to take my heart medicine.
why should i? why should i do any of it?
that's a foolish thing to do. what if your mother goes in your room anyway? what if she hires a maid?
a boy.  a boy.
in railroad cars marked "medical supplies." it came in long crates that looked like coffins.
no, from time to time we would be sent something else. experimental gases. the high command was always interested in improving efficiency. once they sent us a gas code-named "pegasus." a nerve gas. thank god they never sent it again. it.
it didn't work very well. it was quite boring.
it killed them. what do you think it did, made them walk on water? it killed them.
i won't. i refuse. where are my cigarettes?
it made them dance.
like zyklon-b, it came in through the shower heads. after a few seconds the prisoners began to leap about. some were screaming. most of them were laughing. they began to vomit and to.  to defecate helplessly.
they began to twitch all over and make high, strange sounds in their throats. at last they collapsed and just lay there on the concrete, twitching and yodeling, with blood streaming from their noses. but i lied to you, boy. it didn't kill them. either because it wasn't strong enough or because we couldn't bring ourselves to wait that long. i suppose it was that. i sent five men in with rifles to end their agonies. these were five men i trusted. it would have looked bad on my record to have wasted so many cartridges at a time when the fuehrer had declared every cartridge a national resource. i was always given high marks for efficiency.
how do you eat this crap everyday?
i was the commandant of the camp.
the entire world was at war, boy. people died.
boy, i was a soldier in a position of power. you don't get to be there by selling . girl scout's cookies.
that's enough for today, boy. i beg you. i'm tired.
you don't have to do that, you know.
yes, it must be fifty degrees outside. i'm sure to you it seems positively frigid.
it slipped my mind. i will attend to it tomorrow.
leave me alone.
oh, don't misunderstand me. certainly with a pistol pressed to their head, a prisoner would tell us everything we wanted to know, sometimes more. but mine was a much more .  elegant method. remember, it had been months since they had smelled real potatoes simmering over an open flame, and boy, when that delicious odor hit their noses their mouths would drop and out would pour an account of every minor infraction their friends had committed, i mean it was magnificent.
oh, we never promised them the soup in exchange for information. we never mentioned it at all.
but, as the war pressed on, the time for such civilized measures became a luxury. i remember by april of '45, we had barely enough food to feed ourselves. the sound of the russian mortars grew louder everyday, but still, the train cars from france and poland kept coming. this was a time of desperation. the ovens burned day and night and still i knew we would not beat the arrival of the russian forces. many of my men, the cowardly ones, deserted during the night. but the men that remained, the same ones i had called upon so many times, . continued the work. at first we thought a massive fire in the main building would serve our purpose. we could just crowd them in and pull a gas torch up to each of the windows. but with so many of them, we couldn't be sure the bodies would burn properly. we needed something . certain. then a young, bright soldier, i shall never forget his enthusiastic smile, pointed to a pair of bulldozers near the western gate which had been used during construction. how perfectly simple it was. the bulldozers carved a narrow trench, four meters deep, down the center of the camp. for two hours they dug until i realized we may not have enough gas to finish the job. so the inmates were given shovels and told they were building a shelter from the incoming artillery. when they were done, i immediately called for a practice drill and three thousand naked bodies began to march into the trench. it took less than twenty minutes to get them in place. quickly the bulldozers moved down the sides of the pit sending the piles of earth into the massive grave. those who tried to free themselves were shot, of course, but very few cartridges were wasted that day. the machines were too fast. back and forth they went.  packing the dirt. one by one the tractors ran out of gas and my men had to scurry along with shovels. but by sunset.  it was done. i gave the order to evacuate. in the distance the plumes of russian mortar fire rose like an approaching thundercloud. but i knew that no matter what happened, . no one would ever forget what we did here.
hello? yes? . no, no trouble at all. . yes. . yes, he's here. . i see. . really? . no, no plans. . ah, lovely. . my dear, i'd be delighted. . certainly. . of course i will. . yes, until then. . all right. . good-bye.
it seems i am to be your guest for thanksgiving dinner.
here kitty-kitty. here kitty-kitty.
come, puss-puss. that's right. i'll wait.
that's right, puss-puss. you can smell it now, can't you?
that's right, kitty-kitty. that's right.
gotcha.
oww, you mother-fucker.
come here!
test run eight-four. electricity, sexual stimulus, metabolism. based on the thyssen theories of negative reinforcement.
subject is a young jewish girl, approximately sixteen years of age, no scars, no identifying marks, no known disabilities --
excuse, me, mrs. bowden. put it down? i've been here over twenty years but that's a new one.
i see.
as my departed wife used to say, 'one must never overdo the sublime.'
i was a student at the university until my reserve unit was called in 1943. but we were not a combat unit, thank god. mechanical engineers. help me find my cigarettes, todd. would you? in those days, not even the call of higher learning could exempt an able body from military service.
my dear, i do apologize. my hands are too arthritic to strike a match, i'm afraid. your son has been good enough to help an old man with his filthy habits.
perhaps your son would excel in combat.
the purple heart. you were injured?
you shouldn't be so hard on your father.
boy, it's not so easy to raise children. your father does the best he can, i'm sure. having his own father there is bound to cause some anxiety on his part--
heavens, boy, wasn't that precisely the point? i used the evening to our advantage.
certainly now they will offer no objections if you continue to come over and read to me.
lower your voice. people will hear.
no, nobody forces you to come. in fact, you are welcome to stay away. believe me, boy, i have no scruples about drinking alone. none at all.
i am sure they would have nothing but revulsion for me. but what would they say about you, boy, when i told them you had known about me for nine months.  and said nothing?
come and see me if you please, and stay home if you don't. good night, boy.
what for?
to hell with this. you open it.
you wrapped it yourself, i see.
pete's quality costume clothiers - serving you since 1976.
are you out of your mind, boy? what makes you think i would put something like that on?
like it? my god, you're a bigger fool than i thought. maybe i'll put it on and do a little shopping downtown. is that what you thought? you stupid, boy.
you.  you know, you are correct. i am the stupid one. for months i have suffered your indignities. i have exposed my past to you while watching you stuff your face with those wretched hamburgers. i have stocked my refrigerator with coca cola and ding dongs. all for you, i have done these things and i'm tired of it. but because i value my life and my freedom, what's left of it anyway, i do them. but i'll die before i put this thing on, you fucking piss-ant.
i should smash you.
i hope you go to hell --
the insignia is all wrong. the boots should be leather, not imitation.
and this material.  what? polyester?
good gott.
boy.  be careful. you play with fire.
come out. . come out, now!
line up in front of the train. now!
ah, boy.  i burned my tv dinner, i'm afraid.
i see. what seems to be the trouble?
quarterly progress report. you seem to have fallen on the rocks, my boy. one b, three c's and a d. hardly the work of a "national merit scholar," or whatever you call yourself.
looks like you have a problem then.
boy, it's not my fault your grades have fallen.
please, you don't spend that much time here. i hardly think--
'dear mr. and mrs. bowden, this note is to suggest that we have a group conference concerning todd's first semester grades. in light of his previous good work in this school, the sudden deterioration in his grades suggest a specific problem which should be addressed before his academic advancement is jeopardized permanently. such a problem can often be solved by a frank and open discussion. i am ready to work out a time for us to meet. in a case such as this, earlier is usually better. sincerely yours, edward french.' who is this edward french, the headmaster?
guidance counselor? what is that?
or to the reformatory.
boy, . you have a far greater problem than your school grades. before you speak to me about what they will "get out of you", remember the facts. . seventy thousand people died at patin. have you forgotten that? to the world at large i am the most despicable of criminals, a monster. do you think i would stand aside and let you turn me in so easily? without a fight? is your american self-confidence so bloated that you have never once realized you are an accessory to my crimes. you have criminal knowledge of an illegal alien, and have not reported it. don't you see that? and if i'm caught, i will tell the world all about you. when the reporters put their microphones in my face it will be your name i'll repeat over and over again. todd bowden, yes that's his name. how long?.  oh, for months, almost a year. he wanted to know everything.  that's how he put it, yes - everything.
perhaps, perhaps not. it's a gamble. how would you explain all those books you were reading to me? my eyes are not what they were but i can still read fine print. i can prove it.
why would i do that?
a pencil, what for?
will this do?
tell me, does this french know your parents in a social way?
how about professionally? has he ever called them before?
i have an idea. it will require you to make one phone call.
mr. french, a pleasure.
my, those are some.  colorful shoes.
and the shoes work?
yes, please do.
i'm sure. my son and his wife asked me to come in and discuss this sorry business with you, mr. french. todd is a good boy, believe me. this trouble with his grades is only temporary.
a terrible habit, but thank you. i suppose i should begin by informing you that my son and my daughter-in-law are having troubles at home. rather bad troubles, i should think.
the mother drinks.
yes. the boy has told me that he has come home on two occasions and has found her sprawled out on the kitchen table. he knows how my son feels about her drinking and so on these occasions he has put dinner in the oven himself and forced enough black coffee down his mother's throat so that she will at least be awake when richard gets home.
the boy has tried to persuade her, but she is far too ashamed, i think. if she was given a little time.  you understand?
he is not without blame, believe me. the hours he works. the meals he has missed. they take a toll on a family. i was raised to believe that a man's family came before his work or anything else. i tried to teach my son that.  but --
her mother, sabrina, lives in a nursing home in florida. i'm afraid after her husband died she lost her will to live.
indeed.
yes. i keep his certificates on the wall of my store. i run a small bookstore in san remo.
of course.
i'm not sure that would be the best thing for the boy. the parents might resent him if i took them that proposal right now. things are very delicate. to swing the scale too far in the wrong direction might cause more harm than good. the boy has promised to work harder in his studies. he is most concerned by the drop in his grades, more alarmed than you might expect. he has his mind set on attending stanford or berkeley next fall and does not wish to see his plans altered.
also, the parents would resent me. monica already thinks i meddle too much in her affairs.
allow me to make a counter proposal. you have, i believe, a system for warning parents of poor grades?
and they are sent out when?
allowing for christmas break, the next time they are sent out will be in late january, correct?
good. then what i suggest is this.
i told him you were getting back on track by your own accord. i gave him my word. if you get even one flunk card--
boy, it was the best i could do without arousing suspicion.
well you didn't, did you? this is the way it is and now you are upset because the only way you can make things right is to work.
it can. and it will. you will work.
listen, boy. before today it was possible, just barely possible, that you could have denounced me and come out clean yourself. the way your nerves have been lately i don't think so, but never mind that. it was - at least technically possible. but now things have changed. today i impersonated your grandfather, one victor bowden. and it was you who arranged the meeting. what would people make of that? if things come out now.  perhaps you were right, your age and a good attorney might keep you out of jail, but you would be humiliated, boy, publicly. you would be infamous. your parents too. do you know what such a scandal would do to them? to you? think about that.
it's a done deal, boy. if you don't like it, you can discuss it at family counselling.
never mind your wishes. your wishes make me sick. all i want to hear is that you understand the situation.
boy, the time for discussion is over. this is the way it is. you are going to work. and i am going to be right here with you.
you are going to spend the rest of this quarter, all of your vacation and the first three weeks of january studying. during your free period you will study. during lunch, you will study. and after school and on weekends you will come here and do the same.
no. at home you will dawdle, you will talk on the telephone, watch tv. here, i can make sure that nothing distracts you from your studies.
well, this calls for a celebration, no?
your gratitude humbles me. how about some ritz crackers and velveeta?
i would have expected you to be doing back flips down the hallway after such good news. you are so quiet.
today, i think, i give you the day off from studying. how's that? how about one of my stories instead? i still have a few good ones saved up.
let's see. i could tell you about the special soap we made. or there is always the story of how i escaped from berlin after i was foolish enough to go back. that was a close one, i promise you.
no, none of these i think. you don't seem to be in the mood.
i think today i will tell you the story of an old man who was afraid. he was afraid of a certain young boy who was, in a queer way, his friend. the boy proved to be a very good student, but perhaps not in the way his mother or his teachers had envisioned. at first the old man disliked the boy intensely, but then he grew to.  to enjoy the boy's company. of course, there was still a great deal of distrust between them.
each knew something that other wanted to keep secret. but over time, the old man began to feel that things were changing. he felt his hold on the boy slipping away from him.
so. one sleepless night the old man got out of bed and wrote down the story of his involvement with the boy. everything he could remember, from the first day forward.
when he finished his hand was stinging from arthritis but he felt good for the first time in weeks. he felt safe.
he climbed back into bed and slept until it was time for general hospital.
on the following day the old man put on his best suit and went down to one of the local banks and rented a safety deposit box. the bank officer explained to the old man that he would have a key and the bank would have a key. to open the box both keys would be needed. no one but the old man could use the old man's key without a signed, notarized letter of permission from the old man himself. with one exception.
that exception is made in the event of the box-holder's death.
then the box is opened in the presence of a bank official and a representative of the internal revenue service. the contents of the box are inventoried. in this case they will find only a twelve-page document. non- taxable.  but highly interesting.
my boy, it is already done.
but there is. as the years go by, as i get closer to the grave, your hold on me will become worth less and less. a man five, ten years older than i worries more about his ailing heart than being extradited to israel. and there will come a day - if i live long enough - when i decide what you know no longer matters. then, and only then, i will destroy my document.
que sera, sera.  whatever will be, will be.  the future's not ours to see.  que sera, sera.
my dear boy, i see you thinking about it, even now. it is in your eyes. killing me. it would take only a flick of a knife. or maybe push me down the steps, make it look like an accident? i am old. you are strong. you are angry. good assets for killing. but there is something missing.
to have some one in your control. to have them know that they are alive because you have not decided to the contrary. do you have that power? ask yourself. it is no easy question. i think you know that.
no, i suppose i won't.
and so it comes to an end. here.
a drink. to our lives together, the beginning.  and the end.
my boy, don't you see that we are fucking each other?
what?
you mistake me for somebody else. . pardon me, my bus is coming.
i don't need any help. . excuse me.
what? what do you want? why do you bother me?
no i don't.
piss off.
i see.
a drink.
you smell like a toilet.
let me take those. right this way.
ah-ah.
i believe we need another bottle, my friend.
no trouble at all. now where is my bottle opener? ah, here it is.
why don't you drink mine?
you don't mind do you?
perhaps.
perhaps. we shall see.
it's all right. so have i.
what a mess.
oh my god.
ein.  zwei.  drei.
come over right away, boy. i'm having a heart attack, a bad one, i think.
i understand that you cannot talk, but you can listen. i cannot call 911.  at least not yet. there is quite a mess here. i need help.  and that means you need help.
tell your parents i've had a letter, an important letter, and i need you to read it to me.
now we see what you are made of, boy.
it's not my blood, for christ's sake.
it was self-defense, boy. go downstairs. you'll see what needs to be done.
you give me no choice, boy.
if you won't help me, then i'll make you help me. if you don't, we are finished.
enough. enough. enough! if you don't stop screaming like a fucking school girl i'm going to.
now listen to me, boy, very carefully. if you don't help me, i'm going to die here. and if i die, there is no stanford for you. there is no scholarship. there is jail. my document.
why not tell them the truth? tell them i locked you in the cellar. tell them i wouldn't let you out until you buried the body.
you must be at the window, yes? as you can see i had it barred a few years ago. a bad element started to move into the neighborhood, you know how it is.
we are wasting time now, boy. come back to the door. you are not going to find anything down there to help you.
what are you doing, boy? it's not going to work, whatever it is.
hello?
cellar. under the stairs.
it couldn't hurt more than a heart attack.
stay calm, boy. you are doing fine.
what are you thinking about?
is that my undershirt?
hurry up, for god's sake.
i think we're okay.
call an ambulance.
what are you talking about?
for god's sake, boy.
hillcrest savings on domingo avenue. the key is behind the clock on the mantle piece.
what for?
what? what is it?
a letter. yes, we'll say it's from willi frankel --
my bedroom. look in the dresser. second, no third, drawer.  from the top. there is a small wooden box. you will have to break it open. i lost the key. there are letters, very old ones. from a friend. all in german. none of them are signed or dated. a page or two will be fine.
why would willi write me in english? if you were to read me the letter in german, i would understand even though you would not. your pronunciation would be terrible, but i could manage --
i see.
arthur.
i'm retired.
you will find, in time, you don't notice.
yes, of course. but for now, you must forgive me, my medication has made me drowsy. do not be offended if i fall asleep.
you shouldn't have.
i had to protect myself from you, boy.
i suspect that we shall never see each other again.
wait, boy.  there is something i want to ask you.
was it like you thought?
perhaps.  perhaps i could persuade you to wait here just until i fall asleep. this medicine makes me quite woozy.  please.
where's the nurse?
what is going on here? where is ben?
i don't want it. who is that man?
yes, of course, but you seem to have me confused with someone else. my name is arthur denker. perhaps you want a different room --
i know no one by that name. shall i ring for the nurse?
my name is arthur denker. i am an american--
who are you men? what are your names?