test.txt

lz77算法("A Universal Algorithm for Sequential Data Compression")的一种简洁直观的实现。

                         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