He glanced around the desert scrub for a dead buffalo. For a smell that awful, the animal had to be huge.
"Many animals died to make that smell," Chiun replied, still twirling his stick lazily in the fire.
"Figured," Remo said, holding his nose. Somehow the stink still penetrated. "Where'd you take me, the elephants' graveyard? There must be carcasses buried all around us."
"They are not buried. You are the one who brought them here."
"You know I didn't bring anything out here," Remo said. "You haven't allowed me any meat in months. You won't even let me out of your sight when we go into town."
"It has nothing to do with your new diet. What you are smelling is the result of more than one score years of wallowing in cow burgers, pig's feet and sheep entrails."
With a look of cautious skepticism, Remo sniffed his own forearms. The stink nearly bowled him over. Eyes watering, he looked up. "It is me," he said, shocked.
"I told you. Why don't you ever listen to a word I say? Sometimes I think I would be better off talking to the wall."
"No walls in the middle of the desert."
"And so I am forced to converse with you," the Master of Sinanju lamented.
A quiet moment passed.
"Chiun?" Remo asked eventually. "Why do I stink?"
The old Korean became very still. Curls of smoke from the dancing fire encircled his age-speckled head. "It is a rite of passage called the Hour of Cleansing," Chiun explained with a knowing nod so gentle it failed to disturb his tufts of gossamer hair. "It was common for Masters of the old order. Less so for those of the new, since most begin proper diet and training not long after birth. Your body is purging a lifetime's worth of poisons. It understands better than you the changes you are going through. The pollution of beef and everything else that has clogged your body is being released."
"This is all just from eating meat?"
"It is the product of an unhealthy diet."
"Phew," Remo said, disgusted. "Remind me of this stink next time I want a steak." He tried to slow his breathing as he'd been taught. The odor still clung. "The Hour of Cleansing, huh? I suppose I can put up with it that long."
"That is just a name," Chiun informed him. "For you it will be longer."
"How much longer?"
"That depends on how many caramel-dipped cows you ate in the past year. Judging by that ring of fat around your middle I would say no more than eight years."
It actually took eight days.
During that time they remained in the desert, away from civilization. Remo's training continued.
By late afternoon of the eighth day, the Hour of Cleansing finally and blessedly passed. It was as if Remo's body had flipped a switch. The smell was there one minute, gone the next. It didn't even linger.
Relieved by the sudden wash of clear, clean desert air, Remo took in a deep breath. Somehow he felt more alive than he'd ever felt before, in tune with the plants and sand and sky and soft desert wind.
The Master of Sinanju noted his pupil's breathing with satisfaction. This white had taken the rudiments of Sinanju and embraced them like no other. That he had passed the Hour of Cleansing so soon was yet another miracle. A hint of pleasure touched the corners of the old man's vellum lips.
Remo didn't see his teacher's pleased expression. Once the smell had lifted, Chiun gave him permission to break camp.
Remo was lost in thoughtful silence as he packed their bedrolls in the back of their Jeep. As he shut the tailgate, he came to an abrupt decision. Setting his shoulders firmly, he turned to face his teacher.
"I've got something to tell you, Chiun," Remo announced reluctantly. "I was going to just do it, but I feel-I don't know-like I owe you something."
"You owe me everything," Chiun replied, frowning at his pupil's serious tone.
"Right. Okay. Sure. Anyway, all this stuff you're showing me has been great and all, but it doesn't really matter. First chance I get, I'm outta here."
Chiun frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You've been square with me, so I will be with you. I didn't ask for any of this. They shanghaied me. Screw 'em. I'm leaving the minute all your backs are turned."
Chiun's face darkened. When he spoke, his voice was filled with low doom. "You intend to run away?"
Remo's spine was straight. He nodded tightly. "You bet. First boxcar out of town, I'm on it."
Not a single wrinkle on the old man's parchment face so much as flickered. "So," he said quietly. "After all this time, after all my effort, you choose now, now to tell me that you were wasting my time?"
"No offense," Remo said.
"You have been selected to work for America's secret emperor, the man who will rule over all this benighted land when he chooses to ascend to the throne. And as if this great honor was not enough, you were given another one, far greater than the first. You were remanded to the care of gracious and generous-of-spirit me, who has given you the beginnings-yes, there I said it-the beginnings of Sinanju. And you wait until now to tell me that I have been wasting my time? Now? Now!"
"I wasn't going to tell anyone at all," Remo said. "But you're-" He shrugged. "I don't know, you're different, that's all. I thought it wouldn't be right to not tell you."
But Chiun was no longer listening. Bony shoulders thrust back in indignation, he turned his back on Remo. Eyes facing the desert, he crossed his arms haughtily.
"Go," the Master of Sinanju commanded.
Remo's brow lowered. "Huh?"
The old man's expression never wavered. "I cannot believe that whatever pagan god you believe in gave you those giant ears only to make you deaf. Go means go. Go."
"What do you mean?" Remo asked. "Like take off, go? Run away from the organization? Right now?"
"I have been here long enough, Remo, to see that there is no organization to this disorganized nation," Chiun sniffed. "It is a wonder you people have lasted this long, with your mad emperors, your constitutions that your own government admits do not work, your Presidents who are selected by batting their eyelashes at the dribbling masses every four years like courtesans currying favor in a Pyongyang brothel, and your would-be students who cavalierly fritter away the valuable time of their betters. There is chaos and lunacy here, Remo, but not organization. If it is your wish to run from those who brought you to this life against your will, then go. I will not stop you."
"So I got this straight, you do mean right now? This minute. In the Jeep?"
"I will survive," Chiun sniffed.
"Okay," Remo said. He climbed in behind the wheel.
"But consider," the Master of Sinanju announced before Remo could put the key in the ignition. "If you leave now, you are leaving wonderful me, glorious me. The only person who has given you anything of any use in your pathetic excuse for a life. When I found you, you were nothing. A foundling wallowing in mud and despair. I have raised you from that. By leaving now you confirm your utter hopeless worthlessness. To stay will prove to me that you are something other than just a pale piece of a pig's ear."
Remo was thoughtful for a quiet moment. "Oh, well," he said. "See you in the funny papers." When he tried to turn the key in the ignition, he felt a sharp slap across the back of his hand. Looking up, he saw a pair of hard hazel eyes peering accusingly at him from the passenger's seat. Chiun had the keys in his bony hand.
"What kind of cold, heartless thing are you, that you would abandon an old man in the middle of the desert?" the Master of Sinanju demanded.
Remo hadn't even heard the door open and close. He had to admit it, the tiny Korean was good. "You're not letting me go, are you?"
"No. Take us home."
"I don't have a home anymore," Remo said bitterly.
"Tell it to someone who cares," Chiun said, tossing the keys back to his pupil.
Regretting that he'd ever said anything about his plans to the Master of Sinanju, Remo started the Jeep. "Old buzzard," he muttered.