SCENE: A man and a boy of about 11 or 12 walk through the doors of the customs clearance area at Borispol Airport in Kyiv. Each is pulling a wheeled suitcase as they make their way through the waiting area toward the taxi stand outside.

Mr. Robbins: (Turns toward the boy next to him) So, Gav, how does it feel to be home again after three years away?

Gavril: No, this may be where I was born, but home is where I live with you. I’m just as much a tourist here as you are.

Mr. Robbins: That’s nice to hear. Home certainly wouldn’t seem right without you. But you’re a tourist here with a difference. You actually speak the language like a native. Even though you’ve tried to teach me some Ukrainian for the trip, I doubt that I could even give taxi directions, let alone do anything important. You’re the one who’s going to be taking care of me for the next week.

Gavril: That should be fun. You’ve taken such good care of me. Now I get to teach you new things. I hope I can manage it.

Mr. Robbins: I know you can. But first, you need to get us to our hotel. After that flight, I want a quick snack and a good night’s sleep. Twenty hours is too long.

Gavril: It was only fifteen hours in the air. Remember we had two hours in Amsterdam and three hours in Warsaw.

Mr. Robbins: As far as I’m concerned, that’s worse than a straight twenty hours on a plane.

Gavril: Ah! It looks like the taxi line is short. We should be at the hotel pretty quick.

(The next morning. Gavril and Mr. Robinson in the back seat of a taxi that is pulling away from a large church.)

Gavril: Thank you for letting me visit my parents.

Mr. Robbins: Don’t thank me. This is entirely your trip to do what you want to do. I’m glad that visiting your parents’ grave was the very first thing you wanted to do. If you want to come back before we leave, you can do it. You can even come by yourself so that I’m not hanging around.

Gavril: Thank you, but I think that I only needed this once. I told them not to worry about me. You’re taking very good care of me and I’m very happy being with you.

Mr. Robbins: (Leans over and hugs Gavril) And I’m so happy that you’re with me. Will we visit your uncle next?

Gavril: I want to see the house, but I hope I don’t see my uncle. I’ll ask the driver to park on the other side of the street and I’ll just look. If I see my cousins, I might say something, but I’m afraid I’d try to kill my uncle if I saw him.

Mr. Robbins: If you see your cousins, you can tell them that you were adopted when you got to America. You’re not the houseboy they think that you are. That would certainly upset your uncle when he heard it.

Gavril: But I am a houseboy.

Mr. Robbins: Only as a legal definition, and I’m still trying to find a way around that. You’ll stop being a houseboy the day that I find a way….

Gavril: (Hugs Mr. Robinson) I love you, Dad. I told my parents that they didn’t need to worry. I have a new Dad who’s taking good care of me. (Leans forward to speak with the driver in Ukrainian) We’re almost there. I just told him to park across the street from the house.

(The taxi stops across the street from a very large and impressive, but very run down three-story house with broken windows and unkempt yard. The large gate is wide open.)

Gavril: What! Why’s it like that. What happened?

Mr. Robbins: It looks abandoned. Maybe your uncle and his family moved to a nicer house somewhere.

Gavril: This is one of the nicest houses in the city. If they moved, someone else should have moved in. Why are they gone?

Mr. Robbins: It looks empty. Let’s take a closer look.

(They get out of the taxi and cross the street toward the house. Just as they start up the front walk, they notice a woman walking toward them. Mr. Robbins points toward her.)

Mr. Robbins: Maybe she’ll know what happened to your uncle and your cousins. Do you recognize her as a neighbor?

Gavril: Yes, she’s Mrs. Goncharov who lives next door. She should know. (He begins walking toward her.) (In Ukrainian) Hello, Mrs. Goncharov. We’re looking for the Tkachenko family. Do you know what’s happened to them?

Mrs. Goncharov: Who are you? Why do you want to know?

Gavril: You probably don’t recognize me, but I’m Gavril Tkachenko. I used to live here. Fyodor and I used to play together….

Mrs. Goncharov: (She looks him over, puts her hand under his chin and looks closely at his face.) Yes, you are Gavril. What are you doing here? I thought that evil man sold you.

Gavril: Mr. Robbins (gestures toward him) brought me back to visit my parents’ grave and to see the family house again. He’s very kind. He treats me like his son, not like his houseboy.

Mrs. Goncharov: That’s nice. I know Fyodor has missed you, and I’ve certainly missed your parents. Your uncle is evil. I’m glad he’s in prison!

Gavril: In prison? What did he do?

Mrs. Goncharov: He gambled and drank away all his money and then tried swindling money out of other people. He’s been put away for a long time.

Gavril: Then, what’s happened to my cousins?

Mrs. Goncharov: When your uncle went to prison, they were sold to cover some of his debts. That slave broker near City Hall bought them. I don’t know what’s happened to them since. They’ve been gone for only a couple of weeks….

(Gavril begins to cry and Mr. Robbins hurries over to comfort him. He squats down and hugs Gavril.)

Mr. Robbins: Gav. What’s wrong? What’s happened?

Gavril: (Between sobs) My uncle’s in prison and my cousins were sold. Nobody’s left. My whole family’s gone….

Mr. Robbins: Maybe we can find out where they are. How long ago were your cousins sold? Who bought them? Maybe I can even buy them. Does this woman know anything about what happened?

Gavril: Yes, she said that the slave broker near city hall bought them only a couple of weeks ago.

Mr. Robbins: Then we might still be able to get them. Let’s see what we can do!

Gavril: Thank you. Even if we can’t, I’m so happy you’ll try. I love you!

Mr. Robbins: Now, ask the nice woman for any information she has that might help.

Gavril: (In Ukrainian again) Thank you, Mrs. Goncharov. We’ll try to find out what happened to my cousins. Do you know anything more that might help?

Mrs. Goncharov: No, Gavril. I only know that that broker bought them. I don’t know what’s happened to them since. Can you come in for some tea? Jalena just made some cherry varenyky this morning, and I remember how much you used to like them. Fyodor’s not home, but you can wait for him. I know he’d like to see you.

Gavril: Thank you, Mrs. Goncharov, I would love to have some tea and some of Jalena’s wonderful varenyky, but I want to visit that broker right away. I hope I’ll have time to see Fyodor later. Please tell him I was here and that I’m very happy in America. Mr. Robbins is just like a father to me.

Mrs. Goncharov: I’ll tell him. I hope that the two of you will be able to visit later. Good luck finding your cousins.

Gavril: Thank you. I’ll try. (Gavril and Mr. Robbins head back toward the taxi, Gavril running.)

(Gavril and Mr. Robbins are standing in front of a door on which there is writing in several languages. The English says, “P. Kuznetsov – Slave Broker”.)

Mr. Robbins: Since the sign is in English, maybe he speaks it enough for me to do most of the talking. We’ll probably get better results that way. If we need to switch to Ukraininan, you can just be my interpreter. I doubt that he’d really give any information to someone he thought was a houseboy.

Gavril: I know you’re right. I’ll try to stay quiet. I want to find my cousins if I can.

Mr. Robbins: Once again, remind me of their names and ages.

Gavril: Well, my uncle was my dad’s older brother, so the family name is Tkachenko, just like mine was. Pavlik was the oldest. He’s about two years older than I am, so he should be 13 or 14. Anya was about my age. She’s just a couple of months younger than me. Petenka was the baby. Petya was just out of diapers when my uncle sold me. He should be 5 or 6 now.

Mr. Robbins: O.K. now. Let’s go in. Remember that you’re pretending to be my houseboy and I’m looking to buy another houseboy or girl – or even more than one.

(After a short period of small talk, Mr. Robbins and Mr. Kuznetsov get to the business at hand.)

Mr. Kuznetsov: Maybe I can help you. So, exactly what are you looking for in a new servant?

Mr. Robbins: Well, you see the houseboy that I have now. Gavril is from right here in Irpin. We came here looking for someone as much like him as we can find. I originally bought him because he was the most intelligent young boy I could find. I enjoy having someone to talk with. He’s also a very handsome boy with the same hair color and eye color as my own. He could be my son or grandson, and that’s what everyone thinks when we’re together. He even looks more like me than any of my grandchildren do. I’m looking for a boy or girl who looks as much like him as I can find. I’d even take two, if they’re as good-looking and intelligent as Gavril.

Mr. Kuznetsov: Well, I don’t know. Young, blonde, blue-eyed slaves are very quick to sell. I don’t have any right now for you to even look at. I had three of them a couple of weeks ago, but they sold the very day that I got them. (Gavril begins to get misty-eyed and his face is turning red.)

Mr. Robbins: To give me some idea of the market, can you tell me something about the three of that you had here? How old were they? Who bought them? How much did they sell for? That would give me some idea of how my search might go. If you don’t think that you’ll be getting any more like them soon, Gavril and I can go back to Kyiv and talk to the brokers there. You seem to be the only broker in Irpin, but there are many in Kyiv. Maybe I can even track down one or more of the three that you had before they’re sold to their final owner.

Mr. Kuznetsov: There’s no way you can track down the three that I had, but I’ll tell you about them so that you’ll know how difficult it will be for you to find what you’re looking for. I only had the three of them here for a couple of hours before an Arab dealer showed up to look at them. After he carefully inspected all three of them, he made me an offer for much more than what I normally get. When I showed a bit of hesitation, he upped his offer to THREE times what I expected for them.

Mr. Robbins: Is that three times what you would expect for young, blonde, blue-eyed slaves?

Mr. Kuznetsov: No, three times what an average house slave would bring. The Arabs say that two hundred years ago the best slaves came from around here and that they still do. They always seem to prefer blondes, though, and will pay much more for them. Anyway, he took the girl immediately and flew her back to Arabia the next day. He said that he had a rich buyer waiting to show her to. He came back just a few days ago to pick up the two boys.

Mr. Robbins: Why didn’t he take them all at the same time?

Mr. Kuznetsov: All these Arabs insist that boys be castrated before they actually buy them. Something about their religion. It’s against their religion to castrate a slave, but they don’t want any slave who hasn’t been castrated. He made me sign that I would sell them to him, but he didn’t actually buy them until he came back.

Mr. Robbins: So, you’ve already had both of the boys castrated?

Gavril: Oh! (Gavril begins to cry.)

Mr. Kuznetsov: Yes, and I was surprised that the Arab was even interested in the older boy. He’s started to grow and his prick was nearly man size. It was standing straight up all the time that the Arab was examining him. The Arab even took close-up photos of it to show prospective buyers. I had to put the boy in shackles so that the Arab could run a full inspection. He struggled all the while. These Arabs usually won’t even look at a boy whose prick has started to grow. They like them best at nine or ten years old. The little boy was much easier. He was still in shock from being sold and let the Arab inspect and photograph him with no trouble.

Mr. Robbins: And, even though he was already growing, the Arab still wanted to buy the older boy?

Mr. Kuznetsov: Yes, and everyone else just wants the boys’ balls cut off. But, all these Arabs want their boys cut clean. There’s only one doctor in Kyiv who’ll cut off a penis when he castrates a new houseboy. He does a pretty good business, too.

Mr. Robbins: Did the Arab take both of the boys back to Arabia already?

Mr. Kuznetsov: Yes, he left three days ago with them. By now they’re with their new owners. He took lots of pictures of both of them when he first looked at them and told me that he had them sold before he even came back to get them.

Mr. Robbins: I’m surprised that any doctor would cut off a healthy penis.

Mr. Kuznetsov: Well, it’s what all of these Arabs want. As I said, only one doctor in Kyiv will do it, and he charges twice as much to castrate a slave as anyone else. The older boy was awfully hard. He was older than those Arabs will usually buy, but he was very good-looking. As soon as he knew he was going to have his penis cut off he began screaming and struggling. It was a good think that he didn’t find out until he was already strapped down to the table. He knew his balls were going to be cut off as soon as he was sold. He accepted that and was ready for it. He was a big boy, though, and his penis was almost man-size. I’m sure he played with it a lot and he knew exactly what he was losing. The little boy, though, didn’t know what a penis was for and he was easy. He won’t know what he’s lost for a while yet.

Gavril: (Sobbing) (In Ukrainian) No! No! Not little Petya. He’s still a baby! How could you do that to him?

Mr. Robbins: (Hugging Gavril) Gav. Gav. There’s nothing we can do now. We can just hope that your cousins have kind owners who will take care of them.

Gavril: (sobbing) But, Dad….

Mr. Kuznetsov: I though this was your houseboy.

Mr. Robbins: Well, he is in some ways. I bought him three years ago. It’s just that he’s now my son.

Mr. Kuznetsov: Have you castrated him yet?

Mr. Robbins: No. And I don’t intend to do it. If I can find any way at all not to, he’ll never be castrated. He’s my son!

Mr. Kuznetsov: I’ll never understand you Americans. He’s nothing but a slave. He should have been castrated even before you bought him. I certainly never sell a boy until after his balls have been cut off….

Mr. Robbins: (Hugging Gavril tighter and rubbing his back) It’s O.K. It’s O.K. We need to go back to the hotel so you can cry it out. You’re the last Tkachenko. You need to be brave and strong. Your cousins would want you to be strong.