"Were you in The Sea Is an Only Child?"
"Yeah. You see that one?"
"No," said Remo, not elaborating.
Sunny Joe shrugged and went on. "One year I was in Italy making Spaghetti Westerns when I read about a Newark cop who had been electrocuted for some two-bit killing. The cop's name was Remo Williams. That told me I had waited too long to claim my only son."
"Didn't sound like you were ever going to," Remo said distantly.
"Maybe I never would have. I won't lie to you. Life had dealt me some pretty sorry hands. I wanted my son to start clean and not end up some Hollywood brat too spoiled for his own good, or worse, a half-breed reservation alcoholic with no culture to call his own."
"That's one way to look at it," Remo said stiffly.
For a long time no one said anything. There was only the soft crunch of hoofs in sand. Remo flung the saguaro needle away. It clipped the stinger off a scuttling scorpion.
Sunny Joe noted this without a flicker of surprise coming to his eroded features. "Well, more time passed," he said, "and I got old. Never did make it big as an actor. Too many broken bones and noses. I saw the tunnel one time too many, and decided to retire among my people, whom I had been supporting. Well, you know what happened. The Japanese came to Yuma and hired me as stunt coordinator. Then all hell broke loose. After the occupation, I started getting offers. It was good work at first, then they revived old Muck Man from back in the seventies and I found myself sweating in rubber suits all over again. Only this time I was a star. Nobody knew my face, but I was a star. I was about ready to pack it in when the death-hogan dust kicked up. So I come back. You know the rest."
Sunny Joe plucked a needle off a saguaro and threw it ahead of him. The tailless scorpion caught it in the head and fell over dying. Remo and Chiun exchanged glances.
"Where'd you learn to ride a horse like that, Remo?" Sunny Joe asked all at once.
"Outer Mongolia."
Sunny Joe Roam grunted. "So what've you been doing with yourself all these years?"
"Government work. Hush-hush stuff."
"Say no more."
They rode a little farther along.
"You haven't asked me why I'm still alive if I was executed back in New Jersey," Remo said.
"I ain't convinced you're that Remo Williams." They came to the long wash of crusty sand. "Of course there's one way to find out."
"How's that?" asked Remo.
Sunny Joe pulled up his horse, and Remo and Chiun followed suit.
"There's an old prophesy of Ko Jong Oh. He said one day a man would come from Sun On Jo and he would be known not by his face or dress or language, but by his ability to do what only Sunny Joes could do."
"What's that?"
"To cross Crying River without making it cry."
"Where's Crying River?"
Sunny Joe pointed to the sandy wash. "That's it right there. In the spring it's Laughing Brook. But when the summer heat sets in, it dries right up. We get some rain, and the sand crusts up. You walk across it, and it sounds like potato chips. They didn't have potato chips back in the days of Ko Jong Oh. So they said the sounds were maidens crying."
Sunny Joe piloted this horse forward. Its hooves sank into the breaking crust, making faint crying noises. Forking his mount around, he faced Remo and Chiun across the dead river.
"A true Sunny Joe can walk across Crying River without making the sand cry. I can do it. How about you?"
Remo dismounted. Sunny Joe did the same. They looked at each other squarely and in unison they approached each other.
The sand beneath their feet made no sound. The crust refused to break.
When they at last stood facing one another, neither spoke for a long time.
Sunny Joe's eyes squinted up. "Son..."
Remo swallowed. They lifted their hands hesitatingly, as if measuring each other. Remo offered his hand. Sunny Joe started an embrace. They switched, got tangled up and laughed nervously. Several times they seemed an the verge of embracing in a bear hug.
In the end they stood apart and shook each other's hand firmly, fighting back deep wells of emotion neither man could express articulately, if at all.
When they had exhausted that, Sunny Joe Roam clapped Remo on the back and drew him away from the horses. "Come with me, son. I want to tell you about your mother...."
And standing on the other side of Crying River, the Master of Sinanju watched them walk into the desert together, the hairs of his wispy beard trembling, although there was no wind.
He noticed that Remo didn't look back....
Chapter 25
That night, under a thousand milky stars, Remo Williams was invested as the new Sunny Joe.
He stepped out of a hogan wearing buckskin and hawk feathers, muttering, "I feel like Tonto in this getup."
No one heard him.
Sunny Joe Roam led him before a roaring fire and said, "I present to you my long-lost son..."
"Remo Williams," Remo said.
"Remo Williams, who was sent to us by a vision, and who is the next Sunny Joe."
A sea of red sandstone faces regarded Remo, and he had a flash of deja vu. Their flat faces reminded him of the faces of the villagers of Sinanju, whose lives he was sworn to protect. Except Sinanju faces were the color of old ivory or faded lemons. These faces were distinctly red. But their eyes were identical down to the Mongoloid eye folds. And their lack of appreciation equal.
"Hey," a man in iron gray pigtails spoke up. "He's nothing but an apple."
Remo looked at Sunny Joe quizzically.
"An apple means an Indian who's half-white. You know, red on the outside and white on the inside. Pay no never mind. Been called apple a time or two myself."
"My son is no apple," Sunny Joe told the crowd.
"This is true," a new voice said.
Remo turned. It was the Master of Sinanju. He approached.
"He is a banana," said Chiun.
"Banana?"
"Yes. He is yellow on the outside and white on the inside."
"Don't you mean the other way around, chief?" asked Sunny Joe Roam.
"He is a banana before he is an apple. Do not forget I have taught him the ways of Sinanju. If you teach him the ways of the Sun On Jos for a thousand years, you will not erase his Koreanness."
Sunny Joe regarded Chiun squarely. "Do you have an objection to what we do here tonight, old chief?"
"It is not for me to object," replied Chiun.
Sunny Joe turned to Remo. "What about you, Remo?"
"Let's get it done," Remo said.
"So be it."
They sang the old songs and beat the drums, and as the moon rose cool and clear in a star-sprinkled sky, Remo Williams became the latest Sunny Joe and took the sacred oath to protect his people from all harm.
All this, Chiun watched with unreadable eyes. And when they brought out the corn and fry bread, he slipped away unnoticed.
WHEN ALL HAD DIED DOWN, Remo walked out into the desert, following a set of tracks not even the keenest eye of the Sun On Jo tribe could follow.
He found the Master of Sinanju at the foot of Red Ghost Butte.
Chiun turned. No flicker of emotion crossed his seamed face. "You have found your father, Remo Williams. Congratulations."
"Thanks."
Silence hung between them. Remo scuffed the red earth with his beaded moccasins. A hawk tail feather fell over his eyes. He plucked it out and began stroking the quill.
"And what do you think of your father whom you do not know?" asked Chiun.
"He's a good guy."
"Yes?"
"But he's a stranger. I don't really know him. If I spent the rest of my life here, I might just start to know him."
"Will you?"
"I told you I was through with CURE. I still feel that way."
"You have not answered my question, Remo Williams."
"I've been thinking a lot about what happened these last few days."