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shock.
    The light changes to reveal his face.
    Stalin So who did you expect?
    Bulgakov is speechless.
    The dictator is in his favoured peasant garb: boots, baggy tunic, simple jacket buttoned up.
    He holds an unlit pipe which he sucks on from time to time.
    You know where you are?
    He smiles, continues with theatrical mock secrecy.
    Directly beneath the Kremlin!
    Bulgakov is still bewildered.
    When they were building the metro – it was my idea – secret tunnel, snug little cubbyhole for yours truly – I always knew it would come in useful some day – and look – here we are! Just you and me! Now why don’t you sit down?
    Bulgakov slumps on to a chair.
    Vodka?
    He pours two. Passes one to Bulgakov, who drinks.
    Stalin holds his but does not drink.
    I hear you’re struggling.
    A beat.
    With the play, Mikhail. It’s supposed to be a surprise. But I hate surprises. More than anything in the world, I think, I hate surprises. It’s supposed to be kept a secret – a secret – from me! – which, frankly, is annoying – but some other time . . . Anyway: you’re struggling.
    Bulgakov Yes, yes, I am . . . sir.
    Stalin Please. Joseph.
    Bulgakov Yes, Joseph, sir, I mean, no, it’s not going well.
    Stalin Not going at all, as I understand it.
    Bulgakov You’re right.
    Stalin I think we need candour from the start. The good news is that I can help you. In fact I want to help you. It would be a privilege for me, a mere philistine, to collaborate with the great Mikhail Bulgakov. To collaborate! I mean, just to watch you create, that wouldbe the privilege. You see, I love the theatre. I always have. You know, the Art Theatre, they gave me this badge. Look, a little . . .
    Bulgakov Seagull.
    Stalin Yes, a seagull. In recognition of my support. You know when they pinned it on, I was in tears. I felt the hand of . . . of . . .
    Overcome with emotion, he cannot finish.
    Bulgakov Chekhov?
    Stalin Yes – upon my shoulder! And yet I knew I was unworthy. You know what they call me – The Great Friend of Actors and Theatre, with a capital letter at the start of each word, as though that makes it true. Still, I love the theatre. And I love your work. The White Guard – fifteen times! I am probably your number-one fan. Almost to the point of obsession. Scary! OK, so you’re quite clearly an enemy of the state.
    Bulgakov attempts to disagree.
    No, no – let’s call a spade a spade. It’s what you are. A class enemy. A talented class enemy, it must be said, but that only makes you more dangerous. You are a subversive worm burrowing its way into the body of the nation intent upon devouring us from within. Nevertheless, allowing for that: I like you. So what’s up?
    Bulgakov Well . . .
    Stalin Joseph.
    Bulgakov Joseph, it’s like this. I’ve read a lot about you, but I don’t think I’m getting –
    Stalin The real me.
    Bulgakov The real you.
    Stalin Tricky. But not any more. Now you can get it from the horse’s mouth – though don’t ever, ever refer to me that way in public. I have ideas. A couple of scenes.
    Bulgakov Scenes?
    Stalin Yes. Characters, dialogue, action. If that’s all right with you?
    Bulgakov Yes. Sir. Joseph. Of course.
    Stalin Now, the clock is ticking. Shall we begin?
    He claps Bulgakov on the shoulder and ushers him to the desk. He feeds a sheet of paper.
    Act One, Scene One – hold on – I forgot – you have a title?
    Bulgakov Young Joseph .
    Stalin Young Joseph . I like it! It’s about me when I was young. It’s better than your others, if you don’t mind me saying so. Less pretentious. I like a title that tells it like it is. Ivan the Terrible. Peter the Great. Young Joseph the . . . whatever. ‘Heroic’ would fit, obviously, but I leave it up to you. Whatever you choose. Doesn’t have to be ‘Heroic’. Could be another word altogether meaning heroic. What do