Collaborators Read Online Free PDF Page B

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.
    Bulgakov It’s difficult.
    Vladimir For me – maybe. But you’re a writer. You do this for a living.
    Bulgakov It’s difficult to get a real insight into the man.
    Vladimir Read the books.
    Bulgakov I read them!
    Vladimir So read them some more! You have three weeks until his sixtieth birthday!
    Bulgakov As an author, you have to love your characters.
    Vladimir Of course. Even I can understand that. And I’m sure you will.
    Bulgakov Really? You think so? You think I might find some empathy, some connection – with a loathsome psychopathic despot.
    Vladimir smiles. Does not rise to the bait.
    Vladimir Well, you did write to him, once, didn’t you?
    Bulgakov That . . . that was years ago.
    Vladimir Eight years ago.
    Vladimir produces a typed letter and reads.
    â€˜I can exist no longer, I am persecuted by authority . . . my work is banned from the stage . . . I have been brought to the verge of a nervous breakdown and request that you have me exiled from the USSR . . .’ And then?
    Bulgakov does not reply.
    Perhaps you’ve forgotten. You wrote your whiney, self-pitying letter. And then one day, in your shitty little apartment, the telephone rings, and it rings, and eventually, you answer it. Do you remember?
    Bulgakov Yes.
    Vladimir Out of all the thousands of crackpots who write to him every day – he phoned you. And?
    Bulgakov We had a conversation.
    Vladimir You had a conversation. With him.
    Vladimir produces a transcript. He reads the part of Stalin.
    ( As Stalin.) We received your letter. You want to go abroad? Perhaps we ought to let you. But tell me, have we really upset you so much?
    Then the part of Bulgakov and so on.
    ( As Bulgakov .) Well . . . er . . . um . . . sir, you see, I must declare that I want to . . . I want to . . . to . . . Well, now I think about it, perhaps it would be best for me to remain here.
    ( As Stalin .) You are right. I think the same. Where would you like to work, Comrade? How about a job in the Moscow Art Theatre?
    ( As