Collaborators (11 page)

Bulgakov
What is this!

Stalin stops. Puts down his manuscript.

He walks around and takes a look at the page in Bulgakov's hand.

Stalin
Mass-operational order double-zero double-four seven. It estimates the number of potential traitors, wreckers, counter-revolutionaries and so forth, in each and every area of the entire Soviet Union.

Bulgakov
And what are these numbers?

Stalin
Second category is the number to go to the camps.

Bulgakov
And the first?

Stalin
That's the number to be . . . you know . . . shot.

Bulgakov
Killed?

Stalin
If it works properly. A quota –

Bulgakov
Of people to be shot.

Stalin
It was your idea.

Bulgakov
My idea!

Stalin
You said I need a system –

Bulgakov
Not like this!

Stalin
A quota of cases to be resolved. It's true, Mikhail, you are a genius. At one stroke you removed the guesswork, the random nature of it all. Your inspiration has replaced it with a system that is understandable, reproducible and above all – effective. Now sign here.

Bulgakov
Quotas of people to be shot.

Stalin
It's the only fair way to do it.

Bulgakov
Fair?

Stalin
Any attempt to separate the guilty from the innocent is going to take for ever. And who's to say it even works? This way, it's over, it's done, the problem is solved and we can all move on with our lives. You included.

Bulgakov
We're talking about human beings!

Stalin
No, no, no. That's where you're wrong! That's the beauty of it. With your system –

Bulgakov
It's not my system!

Stalin
– all we're dealing with is numbers.

Bulgakov
Each number is an individual.

Stalin
But the individuals don't matter. Do they? Just sign it there for me, Mikhail, and the rest.

Bulgakov is stunned. He walks away, holding the order.

Anyway, two of the Tsar's ministers come in – and the canary keeps breaking into the national anthem, and every time it does, they have to stand up and sing and then sit down – you can imagine – it could be really
funny. I can take it out if it doesn't work. So, these two ministers are there to tell the Tsar about the demonstrations in Georgia. And they tell the Tsar about this rebel leader: Stalin. The Tsar says: ‘Stalin – who's he? No one!' Wrong! Then he asks how many of the demonstrators were killed. ‘Fourteen,' says the flunky. ‘Fourteen!' says the Tsar. ‘Court-martial the commanding officer! A whole battalion of cossacks against six thousand demonstrators and only fourteen dead – that's outrageous!'

Stalin laughs.

But no response from Bulgakov.

It's satire.

Bulgakov
I want it to stop.

Stalin
The satire?

Bulgakov
The investigations!

Stalin
Who got out of bed the wrong side this morning?

Bulgakov
The further enquiries! The whole process! It's gone too far!

He wields the operational order.

This is obscene.

Stalin
No, Mikhail, this is finishing the job.

Bulgakov
I will not collaborate with this.

Stalin
But I love it when you collaborate.

Bulgakov
No!

Stalin
Haven't I been good to you? Hasn't our relationship been good for you? I've done your work . . .

Bulgakov
No! I won't do it. These are not numbers. These are people. This has got to stop!

He thumps the desk.

A stand-off.

For a moment, it seems Stalin might turn nasty.

Stalin
It's got to stop?

Bulgakov
I . . . demand . . . I demand that you stop it. Now.

Stalin takes this in.

Stalin
Well, I've always admired a man who's true to his principles. It takes one to know one. And I've always looked up to you – your number-one fan, remember? Besides, I'm just the son of a cobbler from Gori, whereas you – university-educated, a writer – who am I to tell you what to do? Mikhail, if you say it's got to stop, it's got to stop.

Bulgakov
Really?

Stalin
Yes.

He takes out the scene he has just typed from the typewriter. Places it in an envelope.

Consider it stopped. It was a just an idea. A crazy idea. But you're probably right. You usually are.

Bulgakov
No signatures?

Stalin
No!

Bulgakov
No quotas for arrest and execution?

Stalin
No. I promise.

Pause.

Now let's talk about the play.

But Bulgakov is still withdrawn, trembling.

Please. Come on, Mikhail. The play.

Bulgakov
Sorry, I don't feel in the mood.

Stalin
You're still upset. I can see that. About these . . . But can't we just forget about all that? Let's not let it spoil things. Oh God, I wish I'd never . . . I admit it: quotas, mass executions – the whole idea was a mistake. I'm sorry. I thought you'd like it. I thought you'd approve. I'm sorry. Please.

He extends a hand.

A reluctant reciprocation.

They shake.

Vodka?

Bulgakov
I have to go.

Stalin
All right. Sure. Till next time.

Bulgakov turns to go.

Hey! Don't forget this. The reason you're here.

He holds out the envelope.

Bulgakov takes it.

Exit Stalin.

Bulgakov turns back towards the bed.

Yelena enters.

They stare at each other for a beat.

She's wary. Angry.

He sits on the bed. He holds out the envelope.

She makes no move to take it.

Bulgakov
I told myself I could do this. I could find a way to give them what they wanted and still be myself.

He offers out the envelope again.

Yelena approaches.

She takes the envelope and takes out the few pages of manuscript.

She reads them quickly.

She sighs. Returns the pages to the envelope. Hands them back to Bulgakov.

It's as bad as that?

Yelena sits on the bed. She says nothing.

I knew I could rely on you. Should have asked you sooner.

Pause.

I want to leave this country now. Will you come with me, Yelena?

Yelena
Yes.

Bulgakov
Do you still have the tickets to Leningrad?

Yelena
Yes. And the currency and the false papers and the letter to Anna's cousin who will lead us across the ice. I have it all, Mikhail. All I have been waiting for is you.

He takes her hand.

They sit for a moment.

She exits.

Enter the two Actors, Vladimir and Stepan.

Bulgakov approaches.

He hands over the envelope.

Vladimir takes out the typed pages and skim-reads.

Vladimir
Fine. Funny. Great. Only one scene left to write.

Bulgakov
No. That's the end. That's the final scene.

Vladimir
No, it is not the end, Bulgakov. I'm the director of this play and I'm telling you we're one scene short.

Bulgakov
I'm finished.

Vladimir
But the play is not! Tomorrow is his birthday, and for tonight I have scheduled a full dress rehearsal and I want – I demand! – one more scene!

Bulgakov
I'm having nothing more to do with this.

Vladimir
It's your play.

Bulgakov
No, it's not and it never will be!

Vladimir
It's started, you know.

Bulgakov
What has?

Vladimir
Do you know what's happened? He's issued mass-operation orders. They identify the numbers – the quotas –

Bulgakov
To be arrested and shot.

Vladimir
All across the Soviet Union.

Bulgakov
I know. But it's all right. You see, I didn't sign them.

Vladimir
What?

Bulgakov
The operational orders – I didn't sign them. I refused.

Vladimir
What are you talking about? These are orders from the Politburo, from Joseph Stalin himself. They don't need the signature of some fucking writer.

Bulgakov
But I didn't –

Vladimir
Listen. An avalanche of terror is about to descend upon us, upon this country. Everything you've witnessed so far, everything you've heard about, has just been a warm-up. And in honour of that, I want you to write one more scene, Mikhail. One scene, where you get inside his head, where you reveal exactly what makes him the bastard he is. That will be our gift to posterity – the truth. And after that, well, we're probably fucked anyway.

Bulgakov
No. I'm sorry, Vladimir. I quit.

Exit Bulgakov.

Vladimir watches him go. Turns to his cast.

Vladimir
All right! On your feet. Let's get ready!

Exit all as Bulgakov enters.

He stops at the table. Exhausted. Supports himself on it.

He retches. He is weak.

A spasm of abdominal pain. He moves on.

He goes to the bed.

Bulgakov
Yelena? Yelena!

No reply.

He starts to undress, but is too weak to continue.

He collapses back on the bed.

Moonlight on the bed.

Silence for a few moments.

Then a knocking from within the cupboard.

Bulgakov manages to sit up.

The knocking continues.

Bulgakov staggers up from the bed.

He searches for the source of the noise.

He realises: the knocking comes from within the cupboard.

He approaches. Stands in front of the door.

With a final thump, the knocking stops.

Cautiously, Bulgakov raises a hand to the door.

And suddenly it slides violently open.

The backlit silhouetted figure inside lets out a yell.

Bulgakov jumps back with a shriek.

The music starts.

Stalin pounces towards Bulgakov.

Bulgakov flees, but he is weak.

Stalin toys with his prey like a cat with a wounded bird.

Finally, he chooses the moment to catch him.

He throws Bulgakov to the floor.

Stalin
Bulgakov – I feel hurt! Angry! And do you know why? Because I hear they want another scene. Is that true? One more scene – written by you and you alone – one that will expose me for what I really am? You know what I think of that?

Bulgakov retches.

Well –

He breaks into a smile.

I love it! The truth! What a great idea! What a crazy wonderful idea! And no one, Mikhail, no one is more qualified to write the truth than you.

He hauls Bulgakov up and pushes him into a seat at the desk in front of the typewriter.

You can't walk away from this, Mikhail. It's in your blood. One more scene. And I can't do it for you this time. Only you can do it, only you can get inside my head. That's a privilege, and a burden, perhaps. But it's your destiny and you can't lie there sleeping while it waits for you.

A beat. Bulgakov is weak, helpless. Stalin gestures with his pipe.

Put the paper in, Mikhail.

Bulgakov obeys.

Now I'd love to stay and watch the creative process, but my car is waiting. You know how it is – busy, busy, busy. Those mass-operation orders – my turn to confess: I signed them anyway. I forged your forgery of my signature. Hope you don't mind. Seemed to work: we're putting them into action! Operational Order double-zero double-four seven goes live at 02.00 hours. It's going to
be quite a show. Like yours, Mikhail. Keep an eye on the time. You wouldn't want to miss your train.

Exit Stalin back into the cupboard. The door slides shut.

Bulgakov sits and stares at the blank page in front of him.

Enter the Cleaner with mop, bucket and folded tarpaulin.

She unfolds the tarpaulin on the floor.

She begins to mop it, slow and rhythmic.

Enter Vladimir, Stepan and the two Actors.

Vladimir
Dress rehearsal. From the top.

The Actors perform, swiftly changing hats, costumes etc., every couple of lines.

Actor One
A bishop!

Actor Two
A cobbler.

Actor One
A leader of men!