Collaborators

by John Hodge

  After a little while, he notices that Bulgakov has not moved at all.

  I’d get a move on, if I was you, Mikhail. Time is running out. The play has to be ready for the twenty-first. And of course, if there’s no play, there’s no deal. No deal, no Molière. No Molière, no future. No point to anything. Is there?

  Bulgakov I can’t.

  Stalin Of course you can.

  Bulgakov I can’t.

  Stalin But you’re the talented playwright! You’re the man who wrote The White Guard!

  Bulgakov watches Stalin absorbed in his task.

  Bulgakov I can’t write this. I never could. I need your help.

  Stalin Sorry! Busy! Big conspiracy!

  He continues, muttering and whistling to himself.

  Bulgakov Joseph . . . Please . . .

  No response.

  (Eventually.) General Secretary, you need a system.

  Stalin stops immediately.

  Stalin A what?

  Bulgakov A system.

  Stalin A system! Of course! So what’s that for?

  Bulgakov To make the process logical. You see, at the moment, you’ve got all these confessions – it’s overwhelming. But if the conspiracy exists –

  Stalin Which it does –

  Bulgakov Yes – and the resources to deal with it –

  Stalin – are inherently undermined by the conspiracy itself.

  Bulgakov Yes . . . Then the key is to say: right, let’s solve so many cases, out of the total.

  Stalin A quota?

  Bulgakov Yes, a quota of cases to be resolved. Concentrate on these, break the links, what’s left is nothing. These individuals – students, engineers, politicians, rootless . . . whatever – on their own – harmless.

  Stalin The individuals don’t matter?

  Bulgakov In a manner of speaking.

  Stalin thinks it over.

  He gathers up all his loose sheets of paper. He taps them together and drops them on top of one of the stacks of files.

  He smiles.

  Stalin You see. It wasn’t so difficult after all. Not for a clever guy like you. ‘A system,’ he says. A system! The simplicity! The genius. You may . . .

  He twirls a finger towards the typewriter.

  Bulgakov swivels it back round towards Stalin.

  Thank you.

  He begins typing.

  Only friends can do that. Men who respect each other.

  He types some more, then pauses.

  Is there anything that I can do for you?

  Bulgakov Well, actually, there is. It’s a favour for me, well – for a friend.

  Stalin The young writer?

  Bulgakov Yes.

  Stalin Having trouble? Some over-zealous, nit-picking bureaucrat doesn’t know talent when he sees it?

  Bulgakov That’s right.

  Stalin Consider it dealt with. From now on – every word that young man writes is to be published.

  Bulgakov Thanks. That’ll mean a lot to him.

  Stalin It’s the least I can do. I owe you so much. And what’s more, Mikhail, I’ve enjoyed it.

  He holds out the customary large envelope of script.

  Bulgakov takes the envelope.

  Bulgakov Thanks.

  Bulgakov walks away.

  Stalin puts the unlit pipe in his mouth.

  Exit Stalin.

  Enter Yelena and Anna.

  They are at the table as Bulgakov approaches.

  Sorry to – I’ve been working all night. Coffee?

  Anna How’s it going?

  Bulgakov Fine. I mean it’s nearly finished.

  Anna Is it good?

  Bulgakov Not for me to say. The audience will decide. They always do.

  Anna Surely you have a view.

  Bulgakov I think it’s too early to say.

  Anna Is there anything you do have a view on any more, Mikhail?

  Bulgakov What is this? Yelena?

  Yelena Anna has something to tell you.

  Anna They have destroyed him.

  Bulgakov What? Grigory? No – it’s all right. I have it on good authority – he’s going to be unbanned. Rehabilitated. They’re going to review his previous work, but from now on, anything he writes – anything – is guaranteed publication. Guaranteed!

  Anna He’s written this.

  She holds a single sheet of paper, typed on one side.

  Bulgakov What’s that?

  Enter Grigory. He stands apart.

  Anna ‘I have failed in my most basic duty to support the Revolution. I have created works that glorify the bourgeois and deny the rightful role of the proletariat. I have betrayed the faith of the people and it is only fitting that my work should cease to be published or read.’

  What do you think this is?

  Bulgakov It’s his self-criticism. I told him not to write it. In any case, the situation has been resolved –

  Anna Oh yes, it certainly has. This is more than a critique.

  Bulgakov is silent.

  He approaches Anna and takes the note.

  Grigory ‘Like a parasite upon the body of the nation, I have sucked nourishment but given nothing in return. I have distorted truth, corrupted minds, and incited counter-revolution. My guilt is no less for my confession and I accept my punishment as both fitting and lenient.’

  Grigory produces a revolver.

  Bulgakov Oh, God. No.

  Grigory shoots himself. Falls dead to the floor.

  Anna Publish anything he writes from now on. That’s a funny joke. Grigory would have liked it. He always said your greatest talent was for comedy.

  Anna stands up and exits.

  The two Actors enter to remove Grigory’s body.

  Bulgakov and Yelena are alone now.

  Yelena Sergei’s gone.

  Bulgakov says nothing.

  He went out, to work.

  Bulgakov And never came back.

  Yelena No.

  Bulgakov How strange it all is.

  A beat.

  Yelena Mikhail, what have you done?

  She exits.

  Enter Stalin.

  Stalin sits, typing and laughing.

  Bulgakov sits. He does nothing.

  Stalin stops. Looks up.

  He gets up and pours a vodka for Bulgakov.

  He places a slim file on the desk in front of Bulgakov.

  He returns to his seat and resumes typing.

  Bulgakov’s gaze falls on the slim file.

  His attention grows. He takes the top sheet and studies it intently.

  Stalin Now what do you think of this? We’re in the private apartments of Tsar Nicholas the Second. He’s got this canary that sings the national anthem. That’s sort of a metaphor – you think it’s too heavy-handed? Brainless bird in cage sings national anthem? Anyway, I like it for now – we can take it out later if we don’t like it –

  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 a
bove 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.