"Nothing doing."
"Yon shouldn't have said that," Remo warned.
"What is the number?" Chiun asked.
"I forget. It's been so long."
The Master of Sinanju carried the phone over to Ferris D'Orr. He picked it up delicately and placed the receiver in the metallurgist's left hand. He inserted Ferris' right index finger into the rotary dial.
"I will, help," said Chiun. "As you begin to work this instrument, I am sure the number will come to you." It came to Ferris D'Orr suddenly, between the first friction burn from dialing 1 and the moment the Master of Sinanju inserted his finger in the 0-for-Operator hole.
"Hello, Ma?" Ferris said, sucking on his dialing finger. He did not sound happy. Chiun stepped back, beaming. He loved reunions. They reminded him of his beautiful American dramas.
Ferris D'Orr did not talk very long on the phone, but he did listen. Finally he said, "Bye, Ma," and hung up.
"Wasn't that nice?" asked Chiun.
"Yes, very," Remo agreed.
"I want you both to know two things," Ferris said, glowering at them. "One, I am not a momma's boy. Two, I am not-repeat not-Jewish."
"Who said you were?" Remo asked. "My mother. But she's crazy."
Remo and Chinn looked at one another. They shrugged. "Now, if you'll excuse me," Ferris said. "I have work to do."
Remo and Chiun left the room.
"You came all the way back to America for this?" Remo asked Chiun when they were out of earshot.
"Ferris is a genius," said Chiun. "An important genius. Guarding him is a sacred trust."
"What he does is fiddle with that machine of his and melt blocks of metal."
"Titanium," corrected Chiun.
"Does it matter?"
Chiun led Remo into the living room, where the big projection TV stood. Chiun settled onto the couch. Remo sat on the floor.
"You don't wish to sit with me?" Chiun asked.
"Couches are bad for the posture."
"Who says?" asked Chiun.
"You. Constantly."
"This one is different. It is exceptionally comfortable."
"I'll stick with the floor, thank you."
"You have that right," said Chiun in a vague voice.
"How long is this going to go on?" Remo asked after a pause.
"How long is what going to go on?"
"This guarding Ferris."
"Until Emperor Smith informs us otherwise."
"Informs you otherwise. I'm just a bored groupie. I told Mah-Li I'd be back in a week. It's almost that now."
The Master of Sinanju shrugged as if Mah-Li were of no consequence. "Then go. I am not keeping you."
"I told you I'm not going back without you."
"Then I would advise you to find work. I, who have work, will be employed for the next year. At least."
"I think we should talk to Smith about this," Remo said. "Together."
"There is nothing to talk about. I am under contract."
"I'm still trying to figure that one out. And why did you leave Sinanju at night? Without saying good-bye. Answer me that, Little Father."
"I was in a rush."
"What rush?"
"To make my flight."
"What flight? You practically hijacked your way across the Pacific."
"I did not wish to deprive Emperor Smith of one hour's worth of the allotted service due him. What if, in the absence of the Master of Sinanju, he were to be assassinated? Then I would have to break in a new emperor." Chino shook his aged head. "No, I am too old to break in a new emperor. Old, and unwanted."
"VVhat do you mean, unwanted?"
"I am unwanted by my villagers, and by you." Remo came to his feet.
"That's a low blow, Chiun. Would I be here right now if I didn't want you back'?"
"Guilt makes men do strange things. You do not want me. You want Mah-Li."
"I'm going to marry Mah-Li with your blessing, remember? You always wanted me to marry a Korean girl. It's been your obsession."
"Mah-Li does not want you," Chiun said. Remo's brows ran together.
"What makes you say that?" he asked, "How could you say that?"
"Has she written?"
"It's only been a few days, and she doesn't know where I am exactly. How could she write?"
"A worthy bride would write letters day and night, sending them hither and yon until they found you. Mah-Li is probably spending your gold even as we speak. "
"Fine. Let's go back and stop her."
"You go. I must guard Ferris."
"We got the guys who were after him. What are we guarding him against-unwanted calls from his Mother, for crying out loud?"
"Do not shout, Remo. It is unseemly. We never used to argue like this in the happier days."
"In the happier days we would argue all the time."
"Not like this," said Chiun, secretly pleased that Remo, in his anger, had admitted those days were indeed happier.
"No, you're right, not like this. In the old days, you would carp about me refusing to go hack to Sinanju with you and I would hold my ground to stay in America. Now you've managed to get it all twisted up. Only you, Chiun, only you."
"You are beginning to sound like Ferris," Chiun sniffed.
"Is that good or bad? You seem to like Ferris, for a white."
"Whites are not that bad. I am beginning to like whites, some of them. Whites appreciate talent. I feel appreciated in America."
"You are appreciated in Sinanju too, Little Father. I appreciate you. Mah-Li does too. She worships you."
"Then why did you both let me leave in the middle of the night with only three kimonos and one pair of sandals?"
"Because we didn't know you were going to pull a disappearing act!"
"You should have known. You should have seen the signs. They were everywhere."
"There are signs everywhere around here, anyway," Remo said, looking out the penthouse window in disgust. Below, the city of Baltimore lay, a mixture of old buildings and new skyscrapers. Nothing matched or harmonized. In the streets, automobiles sent exhaust fumes into the air. Remo could smell them even through the double-sealed windows.
Once America had been his home. Now he felt like a stranger here. He hadn't lived in Sinanju long enough to love it, but the only two people in the world he did love were of Sinanju. That was enough for a start. At least in Sinanju the rain was clean, and the only dirt was on the ground, where dirt belonged. With some improvements, Remo knew he could make Sinanju a paradise for Mah-Li, himself, and Chiun. If only he could convince the Master of Sinanju.
"A penny for your thoughts?" asked Chiun.
Remo was silent for several ticks of the clock before he turned to the Master of Sinanju. His voice was clear and steady, his dark eyes determined.
"I'm not an American anymore ," he said.
"So?"
"It's not fair that you do this to me. I did everything you wanted. I trained, I learned, and finally I gave you the last thing you wanted: settled in Sinanju. Now you do this to me."
"Do what?" Chiun said innocently.
"Pull the rug out from under me."
"You are standing on linoleum," observed Chiun.
"You know what I mean, dammit?" Remo was shouting. There were tears in his eyes now, tears of frustration. "I'm more Korean than white now."
"You are more Sinanju than white, never Korean."
"You forget. Mah-Li told me the story about Kojing and Kojong, the twin Masters of Sinanju. Their mother raised one of them secretly so their father wouldn't know he had twins and drown one of them in the bay. Both learned Sinanju, and Kojong went out into the outer world and was never seen again. You've always said I was part Korean, and I've always denied it. Now I don't. Kejong was my great-great-grandfather or something. This is why I learned Sinanju despite my whiteness. "
"Anyone would have learned as you did-with me as his teacher," said Chiun.
"Cut it out! You know that isn't true. We're part of the same bloodline. You found me, and you brought me back into the fold. It was a long, hard struggle and I fought you every step of the freaking way, but now I'm where I belong."