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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-revolutionarywho 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.