Getting the decorations from the car, he proceeded to decorate the tree. He took his time with it. After two hours, the tightness began to leave his face and the beginning of a contented smile crinkled the corners of his deep-set eyes. In another minute he would have begun to hum "Little Drummer Boy."
That moment never came.
From out of the bedroom, the continued adenoidal goose honking abruptly died down, to be replaced by the rustle of silk. And then, so softly that only Remo's ears could have heard, came the shuffle of sandals.
Chiun, Reigning Master of Sinanju, looked into the room. His eyes alighted on the lean, muscular back of his adopted son. Momentary pleasure illuminated his wise hazel orbs. Remo was home. It was good to behold him once more.
Then he noticed what Remo was doing.
"Pah!" he spat. "I see that it is Jesus Time again."
"It's called Christmas," Remo said over his shoulder, "and I was just getting into the mood before you mouthed off."
"Mouthed off!" Chiun squeaked. "I did not mouth off, whatever that is." The Master of Sinanju was old. Only his eyes looked young. He was a tiny Oriental with only smoky puffs of white hair over his ears and another wisp at his chin. He wore a yellow silk kimono. His hands were joined within its linked sleeves.
"I did not mouth off," Chiun repeated when Remo ignored him and returned to stringing lengths of silver wire on the evergreen tree. Remo said nothing.
"Trees belong outdoors," Chiun added.
Remo sighed. "This is a Christmas tree. They're for indoors. And if you don't want to help, fine. Just stay out of my way. This is our first Christmas in our new home. I'm going to enjoy it. With or without you."
Chiun meditated on the matter. "This tree reminds me of those magnificent ones which dot the hillsides of my native Korea," he pointed out. "The scent is very much the same."
"Then pitch in," Remo said, mollified.
"And you have killed it for your pagan ceremony," Chiun added harshly.
"Keep it up, Chiun, and there won't be any presents under the tree with your name on them."
"Presents?" Chiun gasped. "For me?"
"Yeah. That's the tradition. I put presents under the tree for you and you put them under the tree for me." Chiun looked down at the foot of the tree. He saw no presents.
"When?" he asked sharply.
"What?"
"When will these alleged presents appear?"
"Christmas Eve. That's Sunday night."
"You have bought them?" Chiun asked skeptically.
"No, not yet," Remo answered vaguely.
"I have bought none for you, you know."
"There's time yet."
Chiun examined Remo's tight profile curiously.
"In past years you were not so obsessed by this Christmastime," he ventured.
"In past years I never had to kill Santa Claus."
"Ah," Chiun said, raising a long-nailed finger. "At last we come to the heart of the matter."
Remo said nothing. He lifted a spindle-shaped ornament from its box and plucked straw packing from dangling silver bells.
"Your mission," Chiun said expectantly, "it was successful?"
"He's dead if that's what you mean." Remo reached up and pulled the flexible treetop down. He slipped the ornament over the top. When he let go, it sprang erect. The tiny bells tinkled merrily.
"You do not look happy for one who has avenged the children of this land."
"The killer was a child himself."
Chiun gasped. "No! You did not kill a child. It is against everything I taught you. Children are sacred. Say this is not so, Remo."
"He was a child in mind, not body."
"Ah, one of the many mental defectives that populate America. It is sad. I think this stems from the hamburgers everyone devours. They destroy the brain cells."
"I wanted to kill this guy so bad it hurt."
"Your job is not to hate, but to eliminate your emperor's enemies with dispatch and professionalism."
"I did it right. He didn't suffer."
"But you did."
Remo stopped what he was doing. He put aside a box of silver-blue bulbs and sat down on a tatami mat. Quietly, fervently, he told the Master of Sinanju what he had encountered. When he was done, he asked a question: "Did I do the right thing?"
"If a tiger turns man-eater," Chiun intoned sagely, "he must be hunted down and destroyed."
"A tiger knows what he's doing. I'm not sure he did."
"If a tiger cub mauls a child, he too must be put down. It matters not whether he knows that what he did was wrong, for he has tasted blood, and the taste will never cease haunting him. So, too, was it with this unfortunate cretin. He committed great evil. Some might not judge him harshly, but in truth that is not the issue. He had tasted blood. Better that he be liberated from his physical prison and be free to return to earth in another life, to atone for his transgressions."
"You sound like Shirley MacLaine."
"I will take that as a compliment."
"Don't."
"Then I will assume it is an insult," Chiun snapped, "and leave you to your misery, you who would rather suffer in ignorance than be unshackled by wisdom."
And with that, the Master of Sinanju jumped to his feet and flounced back to his room. The door closed so hard it made a breeze that ruffled Remo's hair. Oddly, for all that violence, the door closed without a sound.
Remo went back to his tree. But his mind was troubled. The phone rang. Remo went to answer it. "Remo. I need to see you," the lemony voice of Dr. Harold W. Smith told him. Smith was the head of CURE, and Remo's boss.
"Don't you want to hear about the mission?"
"No, I assume that if it had gone awry, you would have reported it before I called."
"Take me for granted, why don't you?"
"I have something more important. Please come to Folcroft at once."
"Chiun and I will be there in a half-hour."
"No," Smith said hastily. "Just you. Please leave Chiun out of this."
The door to Chiun's bedroom opened suddenly. The Master of Sinanju appeared, his mien hard.
"I heard that!" he said loudly.
"I guess you just stepped in it, Smitty," Remo said. Harold Smith sighed.
"Contract-renewal time is coming up. I wanted to avoid premature negotiations."
"No negotiations are premature," Chiun announced, loud enough to carry to the receiver.
"Are you using a speakerphone?" Smith asked sharply.
"No. You know Chiun can hear an insult clear across the Atlantic Ocean. "
"One-half hour," Smith said. "Good-bye."
"That man is growing more impossible with each passing day," Chiun said huffily.
"What are you trying to bag him for this year? Disneyland again? Or are you still trying to get him to match Roger Clemen's salary?"
"Our Disneyland negotiations have collapsed." Remo feigned horror.
"No!" he gasped.
"Smith claims that the current owner refuses to sell," Chiun said bitterly. "I, however, may bring it up again. For too many years have I accompanied you on your missions for insufficient recompense."
"I thought we were co-equal partners, to use your own phrase."
"True, but that is an understanding that exists betweenyou and me. It has nothing to do with Smith. For the purposes of contract negotiations, I am the Master and you the pupil. I have been trying to impress this upon Emperor Smith, but to no avail. The man is invincibly dense."
"Is that why you didn't go to Providence with me?"
"Possibly. It might have helped my cause had you failed miserably. But I do not hold your uncharacteristic success against you. I am certain it is not deliberate."
"Nice of you to be so understanding, but I do feel like I failed miserably."
"May I quote you? To Smith?"
"Do what you want," Remo said. "I'm leaving." The Master of Sinanju hastily padded after him.
"And I am accompanying you," he said. "Perhaps Smith has an assignment for you of such magnitude that he will beg me to accompany you. For a suitable price, of course." Remo cast the half-decorated tree a wistful glance as he left the house. He had no inkling that by the time he would see it next, all the needles would have dried up and fallen to the floor.