Collaborators (4 page)

Bulgakov
I'm finished. That is what it means.

Vladimir
You'll get over it! You are a skilled dramatist. What you are going to give us is . . . The Truth.

Bulgakov is deadpan.

Here we are.

Bulgakov
The Lubyanka?

Vladimir
Relax, you're not going into the prison. I have an office here. You can borrow it.

Bulgakov
Why would I want to do that?

Vladimir
Because you can't work in that shitty apartment.

He leads Bulgakov to the table and chairs.

Stepan follows.

So what do you think? If there's anything you need, you can let me know.

Vladimir is about to leave.

Bulgakov
Stop! Hold on. You think I'm going to do this? Because I can tell you right now that I am not going to do this!

Vladimir
You're not?

Bulgakov
No.

Vladimir
Right. Well, that's my plan ruined. What an idiot I am! You see, I hadn't made any provision for you expressing your free will. Don't suppose you'll change your mind?

Bulgakov
No.

Vladimir
Please?

Bulgakov
No!

Vladimir
What if I was to offer you something?

Bulgakov
There is nothing you could offer me. Except a ride home.

Vladimir
Oh but there is! Isn't there? Let's think about it. You write this play for our leader's sixtieth birthday and in return, your
Molière can be performed again.

Bulgakov says nothing.

Yes, that's it. You write for us:
Molière
goes back on, your career is salvaged, you get another chance, Bulgakov, indeed you may even have a future, which is no minor consideration in this day and age. But if you say no, I mean if you don't write for us: it's all over.

Bulgakov
How would I . . . know I can trust you?

Vladimir
Sir, I think you've spent too long in the world of show business. Here in the Secret Police, a man's word is his bond.

He extends a hand to shake.

Bulgakov does not move.

Your last play took three years. We have four weeks. I suggest you get moving.

Exit Vladimir and Stepan.

Bulgakov remains at the table.

Enter Yelena, Anna and Grigory.

Grigory
You're not going to do it, are you?

Bulgakov
Of course not.

Grigory
You told them that?

Bulgakov
I made it clear.

Anna
It's a punishment, that's what it is. For daring to think.

Yelena
But it's not easy, is it?

Grigory
You think he should do it?

Yelena
No . . . I'm not saying that. But his play, what happens to that?

Bulgakov
As Sergei would say, we all have to make sacrifices.

Yelena
And all the other people who've worked on it?

Anna
Even if he does what they ask, who's to say it would ever see the light of day again?

Yelena
He gave his word.

Grigory
A secret policeman, please!

Bulgakov
Grigory's right . . . I have to take a stand. I have to . . . it is my obligation . . .

He gets up. Turns away in thought.

Grigory follows him. Interrupts. A talk in private.

Grigory
Mikhail – I need your advice.

Bulgakov
What?

Grigory
My novel.

Bulgakov
What? Rejected?

Grigory
No. Banned. I'm not allowed to publish it anywhere. Nor show it to anyone. I've been ordered to destroy it.

Bulgakov
Don't do that. No, not that, whatever you do.

Grigory
They've suggested I ‘restructure' myself. They say my next novel should be about the defence of the motherland, or the reform of some counter-revolutionary
who sees the light through the purifying effects of digging a canal. Apparently there's quite a market for novels about counter-revolutionaries who see the light through the purifying effects of digging a canal. It's a genre in itself, I never even knew –

Bulgakov
Meet them eye to eye. Do not blink, do not step back. Change not one single word.

Grigory
That's what I wanted to hear.

Bulgakov
Good luck.

Grigory
And you.

They shake hands. Grigory exits with Anna.

Yelena watches Bulgakov, who stands in silence.

Yelena
What are you going to do?

He turns to her. They look at one another. She knows.

She comforts him with a hug.

They part. As Yelena exits, Bulgakov turns to the table and sits down.

He feeds paper into the typewriter.

But he does not type.

Enter Vladimir and Stepan.

Vladimir shouts across.

Vladimir
Bulgakov? Are you writing?

Bulgakov
I'm thinking.

Vladimir
I can't hear anything!

Bulgakov
It's a silent process.

Vladimir
I want to hear the sound of creation.

Bulgakov
When you stop pestering me, you'll hear this!

He brusquely types a couple of words.

Vladimir
That's better. What have you written?

Bulgakov
‘Death to Stalin!'

Vladimir and Stepan stride across.

Vladimir spools out the page. Reads it and tears it up.

Vladimir
Bulgakov – is there something wrong?

Bulgakov
No.

Vladimir
Are you sure? With your health or something? I wouldn't want to think I've hired a man who isn't up to the job. I don't like to be personal, but there's a kind of tinge in your skin – have you noticed that? Maybe all writers have got it.

Bulgakov
It's the colour of persecution.

Vladimir
So the problem is just a creative one, right?

Bulgakov
There is no problem. It's all coming together in my mind.

Vladimir
Good. Then when can I see something on the page?

Bulgakov
A day or two. At the most.

Vladimir
OK. A day or two. At the most, Bulgakov. At the most.

Exit Vladimir and Stepan.

Bulgakov sits.

Enter Yelena. She stands behind Bulgakov.

Enter the Doctor carrying a large bundle of files.

Doctor
Next! Sit down. Seventy-five patients to see! What is the nature of your problem?

Bulgakov
We're here for the results. Of the tests.

Doctor
Name.

Bulgakov
Bulgakov. Mikhail.

Doctor
Smackhead groin doc turned smut-scribe?

Bulgakov
That's me.

Doctor
How could I forget?

He reaches for a file.

Well?

Bulgakov
What?

Doctor
Any joy?

Bulgakov
I'm sorry?

Doctor
The actress. The babe. The honey. The hot chick.
Mia amorata
. Have you found her yet?

Bulgakov
I'm working on it.

Doctor
You'll let me know. I'll never forget her . . . smile.

Bulgakov
Do you have my results?

Doctor
All right!

He snatches a file and reads.

Let's see . . . Fifteen letters, eighth letter ‘c', anagram of ‘censorship loser'.

Yelena
What!

Doctor
Progressive failure of the kidneys, hypertension, declining filtration rate –

Bulgakov
Nephrosclerosis.

Doctor
You
were a doctor
!

Yelena
Is it bad? Mikhail?

Doctor
Will you tell her or will I?

Bulgakov
Things get worse.

Doctor
That's one way of describing it.

Bulgakov
The loss of appetite, and weight, continue. And the sickness. Then one starts to retain fluid, and the poisons build up. Ends in a coma.

Yelena
How long does this take?

Bulgakov
A year. Maybe more.

Doctor
Ha! . . . Sorry. And before you ask –

Bulgakov
There's nothing can be done.

Doctor
Nothing at all. Just to make it clear. I wouldn't want to engender false hope. False hope is not the business of a physician. Or a playwright, don't you think?

He stands.

Good day – Mrs Bulgakov. I am sorry.

Exit the Doctor.

Enter Anna, Grigory, Vasilly and Praskovya. They are emotional, upset. A flurry of comments and proposals.

Grigory
Mikhail, we know.

Anna
Yelena told us. It's terrible!

Grigory
We think you should give up work. It's not important now.

Praskovya
Exactly. If you don't want to work – don't let them force you. Not now.

Bulgakov tries in vain to calm them down.

Yelena
I'm sorry, Misha, I had to talk to someone.

Bulgakov
It's all right.

Anna
And all of us – we think you should leave, with Yelena. If you want to. You should leave the Soviet Union. You've always wanted to travel. So go now.

The cupboard door slides open.

Sergei
He can't leave without permission!

Vasilly
Sergei – back in the cupboard!

He slides it shut.

Anna
I have a cousin who lives just outside Leningrad. I will give you a letter. You can trust him. He will lead you across the ice, overnight, to Finland. From Helsinki, you can go anywhere.

Grigory
Breathe free air, Mikhail.

Vasilly
I have one or two trinkets you can sell, salvaged from the ruins.

Praskovya
I know where you can get papers. And foreign currency.

Vasilly slides open the cupboard door.

Vasilly
Sergei – you hear nothing of this!

He slides it shut again.

Yelena
You see, Misha, we can go.

Bulgakov
You're too kind, all of you. And you're right, all my life I have wanted to travel: to Paris, to Rome. But now – I don't want to go anywhere. I want to be with my friends and my colleagues, with the people I love. I want to stay here. I want to . . . I don't know – throw a party! Why not? To celebrate my good health! And if my illness were to turn up, uninvited, that's all right – we'll bring him in, we'll sit him down by the fire, put a drink in his hand then borrow a revolver and shoot the bastard!

Bulgakov takes Yelena's hand.

He addresses the others.

Now please. If you don't mind?

Vasilly
Of course.

Exit Vasilly, Praskovya, Grigory and Anna.

Bulgakov
Don't look at me like that, I'm not actually dead yet.

Yelena
Please, Misha, don't talk like that. I don't –

Bulgakov
– want to lose me! Less drama, more living, please. Honestly. It's not that bad. A change in status: that's all.

Yelena goes to sit on the bed, distressed.

Bulgakov watches for a moment.

Then he crosses to the gramophone.

Yelena
Please, Misha, not just now.

Bulgakov
Oh yes, now. Now more than ever.

He lifts a record and puts it on. He winds up the turntable and drops the stylus in place.

The music could be a waltz or something contemporary, a piece of jazz, or something frivolous, like the cha-cha. But whatever, it is their tune.

After a few bars, Bulgakov extends an arm.

It has the air of a familiar ritual.

Madame.

He waits, arm outstretched.

Eventually, Yelena smiles.

She gets to her feet and crosses to him.

She curtsies. He bows.

They dance.

During the dance, enter Vladimir and Stepan.

They wait at the table.

The dance finishes before the music.

Bulgakov and Yelena kiss.

She exits.

Bulgakov watches her go.

He lifts the stylus from the gramophone.

Removes the record.

He pulls on his coat.

He approaches the table.

Vladimir!

Vladimir
Hello, Mikhail. Just wondered how you were getting on. Thought I could read whatever you've got so far.

Bulgakov
I'm afraid there's nothing yet.

Vladimir
So far, then: not so good.