Collaborators (2 page)

JH, September 2011

Collaborators
was first performed in the Cottesloe auditorium of the National Theatre, London, on 25 October 2011. The cast was as follows:

Mikhail Bulgakov
Alex Jennings

Yelena
Jacqueline Defferary

Joseph Stalin
Simon Russell Beale

Vassily
Patrick Godfrey

Praskovya
Maggie Service

Sergei
Pierce Reid

Grigory
William Postlethwaite

Anna
Jess Murphy

Vladimir
Mark Addy

Stepan
Marcus Cunningham

Doctor
Nick Sampson

Actor 1
Perri Snowdon

Actor 2
Michael Jenn

Eva
Sarah Annis

Other parts played by members of the company

Director
Nicholas Hytner

Designer
Bob Crowley

Lighting Designer
Jon Clark

Music
George Fenton

Sound Designer
Paul Arditti

Characters

Mikhail Bulgakov

a writer, aged forty-seven

Yelena

his wife, thirty-something.

Vasilly

ex-aristo, sixty-something,

Praskovya

a teacher

Sergei

a young man

Grigory

a young writer

Anna

an actress

Vladimir

an NKVD officer

Stepan

an NKVD officer

Doctor

Two Actors

Man, Woman, Eva, Nurse, Two NKVD Men, Driver, Cleaner, Doctors, Apothecaries, Molière, Lagrange

and

Joseph Stalin

a dictator, aged fifty-nine

COLLABORATORS

Act One

One double bed.

One large table, two chairs.

Typewriter, decanter, and two glasses on table.

Telephone on a wooden stand.

Gramophone on a wooden stand.

One large cupboard/wardrobe with double sliding doors.

As the curtain rises, it is night.

Bulgakov is lying asleep.

Beside him on the bed is Yelena, also sleeping.

All is quiet.

Then there is a knocking sound. Soft at first but soon loud.

A rhythmic regular thumping.

Bulgakov awakes.

He shakes his wife but she does not stir.

He gets out of bed.

He searches for the source of the noise.

It grows louder and faster.

Eventually, he realises: the knocking comes from within the cupboard.

He approaches. Stands in front of the door.

The knocking reaches a coda, and with a final thump, it stops.

Cautiously, Bulgakov raises a hand to the door.

And suddenly the door slides violently open.

A backlit silhouetted figure inside lets out a yell.

Bulgakov jumps back with a shriek.

The figure jumps out.

He is Joseph Stalin.

Music starts: a silent-movie funny-chase tune.

Stalin pounces towards Bulgakov.

Bulgakov flees.

Stalin, slightly comedic – a malicious Groucho Marx – follows suit.

Stalin pursues Bulgakov around the room and over the bed.

A chase around the table.

Around and over the bed again.

Back to the table.

Stalin picks up the typewriter.

He swings it at Bulgakov.

Bulgakov evades but trips.

He lies on the floor.

He looks up to Stalin looming over him with the heavy typewriter.

Stalin mugs to the audience – ‘Will I or won't I?'

Stalin brings the typewriter down with a vicious sneer.

Blackout.

Lights up. Dawn.

Mikhail Bulgakov is sitting on the side of his bed.

Head in his hands, breathing deeply.

A hand falls on his shoulder.

He turns to face Yelena.

Yelena
Did he catch you?

Bulgakov
No. No, he didn't. I was too quick for him. Grabbed the typewriter, jammed his fingers in and typed ‘You bastard' all across his knuckles.

Bulgakov begins to dress.

Yelena
That's a good sign. Did you have your clothes on?

Bulgakov
I think so.

Yelena
Did he?

Bulgakov
Why? Do you secretly fantasise about your husband in a naked love romp with the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?

Yelena
I just wondered if he was hairy.

Bulgakov
He probably is, but I think it's illegal to know.

Bulgakov kisses her on the cheek.

She looks at him with concern.

Yelena
How do you feel?

Bulgakov
Fine. I feel fine. I mean just the same. It's nerves, Yelena. Anxiety. That'll be the diagnosis.

He kisses her again.

Enter Praskovya and Vasilly, who sit at the table.

Bulgakov pulls on his jacket and crosses towards them.

Vasilly
Good morning, Bulgakov!

Bulgakov
Good morning, Vasilly, Praskovya.

Praskovya
Good morning, Mr Bulgakov. How are you this morning?

Bulgakov
I'm fine, thanks.

Praskovya
But you look ill. An immediate and unassailable contradiction, I think.

Bulgakov
No, really, I'm fine.

Praskovya
You've lost weight. Your colour is poor. You have bad dreams.

Bulgakov
No, I don't.

Praskovya
Did he catch you this time?

Bulgakov
We are not going to talk about my dreams –

Praskovya
He caught you.

Bulgakov
No.

Praskovya
He always catches you. There is no escape from him.

Bulgakov
Praskovya, I am grateful for your concern.

Vasilly
Coffee, Mikhail?

Bulgakov
We have coffee?

Vasilly
No. Of course not. I am simply uttering words of desire at random.

Bulgakov
Large cup, please.

Vasilly
And let's see what else.

He slides opens the empty cupboard.

Look! Fresh fruit! Salami! Pickled vegetables!

He slides the door shut.

Bulgakov
Nothing for me, thanks.

Praskovya
You see. He's not eating.

Bulgakov
Only because there's nothing to eat.

Vasilly
Tell, me Mikhail, did you enjoy a hot bath this morning?

Bulgakov
Vasilly – I forgot!

Vasilly
So did I! Like the fool I am, I made do with a few drops of cold water rubbed vigorously into the creases of my dusty skin. I wouldn't say it was enjoyable, but I was glad when it was over.

Praskovya
Like life itself.

Vasilly
Praskovya – teaching history, don't you find that difficult? I mean, what do you do when your pupils ask what life was like in the old days?

Praskovya
I tell them –

Vasilly
You tell them!

Praskovya
I tell them – it's in the textbooks.

Vasilly
But what if they say, ‘No, Madame, tell us what you remember'?

Praskovya
I remember nothing.

Vasilly
But you must remember something, Madame!

Praskovya
Quite the opposite: it is imperative that I remember nothing, that no one remembers anything, and you would do well to remember that.

Vasilly
Oh, but I can't forget. You know something, Mikhail –

Bulgakov
Your peasants loved you.

Vasilly
My peasants loved me. I know you lefty liberals don't like to hear that sort of thing, but it's true. Oh yes, it was a system founded on oppression – I mean their grandfathers were serfs to my grandfather – and their well-being was entirely dependent on my benevolence – but at least I was benevolent.

Bulgakov
No one starved on your estate.

Vasilly
No one starved on my estate!

The cupboard door slides violently open.

A young man in fatigues steps out.

Sergei
That is treason!

Praskovya and Vasilly are unperturbed.

Bulgakov
Who is this?

Sergei
Sergei Rastolnovich, Comrade. Shock Worker in the Red October engine factory.

Bulgakov
And what is he doing in our kitchen cupboard?

Praskovya
Assigned by the housing committee.

Bulgakov
Our apartment is full. Two bedrooms barely worthy of the name. Vasilly sleeps in the cupboard in the hall! Are we now to have an adolescent where there ought to be tinned apricots?

Vasilly
Tinned apricots! Please – Bulgakov!

Praskovya
We all have to make sacrifices.

Sergei
Only through personal sacrifice can we maintain the strength of the motherland. Personal sacrifice in the Soviet Union is a matter of honour and pride.

Vasilly
You'll fit in very well here. Coffee?

Enter Yelena.

She is dressed to go out and carries Bulgakov's coat.

Ah, Madame Bulgakov, good morning! I have saved you two slices of yesterday's bread and a small lump of something that might or might not be . . .

Yelena
Thank you, Vasilly. I shall share it with my husband.

Praskovya
He was caught last night. That's a bad sign.

Yelena
Good morning, Praskovya.

Bulgakov
Meet Sergei. The new boy.

Yelena
Delighted to meet you, Sergei. I hope you're very happy here.

Sergei
Comrade Madame Bulgakov – it is a great honour to be living in the depths of your cupboard.

Vasilly
I'd stop there, young fellow. This man uses words for a living: a metaphor like that could lead you into all sorts of trouble.

Enter the Doctor. Dirty white coat, unshaven. He carries a stack of files under one arm, and a bag containing stethoscope, sphygmomanometer, etc.

He stands at the edge of the stage.

Doctor
Next!

Yelena hands Bulgakov his coat.

Yelena
Misha – we'd better go.

Bulgakov
Yes, of course.

He pulls his coat on.

Vasilly
Well, good luck, old man.

He shakes Bulgakov's hand.

Praskovya kisses Yelena.

Praskovya
I hope for the best. Though I fear for the worst.

Doctor
Next! Come on!

Sergei
The motherland will clutch you to its bosom and restore you with the milk of its kindness, issuing forth in limitless bounty –

Vasilly coughs.

Sergei stops.

Vasilly points into the cupboard.

Sergei withdraws.

Vasilly slides the door shut.

Doctor
I have fifty patients to see this morning!

Bulgakov
(
to Vasilly and Praskovya) Don't worry. I'm sure it's nothing.

Vasilly takes Praskovya's arm and they walk away.

Praskovya
Did you see? He didn't eat his breakfast.

She and Vasilly exit.

Bulgakov sits at the table.

Yelena stands behind him.

The Doctor strides across.

Yelena
Good morning, Doctor.

Doctor
Name.

Bulgakov
Bulgakov. Mikhail.

Doctor
The playwright?

Bulgakov
Yes.

Doctor
I saw one of your shows once. A woman responds to the economic woes of post-revolutionary Russia by establishing a bordello in a cramped Moscow apartment.

Bulgakov
Madame Zoyka.

Doctor
There was, at one point, as I recall, a more or less naked woman upon stage.

Bulgakov
There may have been.

Doctor
I disapproved. The following night, I disapproved more strongly still. And on the third night, now taking my place in the front row of the stalls, well, you can imagine –

Bulgakov
The full extent of your disapproval.

Doctor
We made eye contact. She smiled. At me.

Yelena
Doctor, my husband is very ill.

Bulgakov
It's just nerves, I think.

Doctor
Still working – is she?

Bulgakov
Sorry?

Doctor
That actress.

Bulgakov
I believe so. I'm not sure where.

Doctor
But you could find out. Could you?

Yelena
He's losing weight. He feels sick. He won't eat. He's tired all the time.

Doctor
You could tell her that I'm a doctor, that I'm single, or at least I am for all practical purposes, and that I have my own –

He taps them.

Bulgakov
Dentures?

Doctor
Teeth.

Yelena
Doctor. Please.

The Doctor sighs. Stands and walks around to Bulgakov.

Doctor
Mouth.

Bulgakov opens wide.

Ah.

Bulgakov
Aaaah . . .

He shines a torch in Bulgakov's eyes.

Doctor
Sleep?

Bulgakov
Yes.

Yelena
No. He doesn't.

Bulgakov
Badly . . . Only sometimes.

The Doctor prods his abdomen.

Doctor
Pain?

Bulgakov
No.

And harder.

Yes!

The Doctor wraps the sphyg cuff around Bulgakov's arm –

Doctor
I'll never forget her . . . smile.

– and measures his blood pressure.

And are you aware of a tinge in your skin, a pigmentation?

Bulgakov
No.

Yelena
What does it mean? Please understand – my husband trained – as a doctor.

Bulgakov
A long time ago.

Doctor
What sort?

Bulgakov
Venereologist.

Doctor
A strange choice, I always think.

Bulgakov
Someone has to do it.