Ordinarily.
When Chiun was not staring at him. When Remo was not so depressed. On other days, and at other times.
"I give up. I don't have the foggiest what's going on in this room."
"Perhaps it is not going on now," said Chiun. "Now that you have given up."
"What are you talking about? Just tell me," said Remo.
"Are you breathing in gulps of air, without thinking? Are you letting your nervousness and body decide how to breathe instead of your essence? Are you gulping air?"
"No. Of course not."
"Then just as perfectly known as it was to the first Masters of Sinanju, beyond the pitiful recorded histories of the world, so it is known to you undiminished. No one time will wear away your excellence. No little war will end your skills as some empires have ended. No thieves can enter as they have in the pyramids. You have the only thing that will last all the days of your life. The skills that I have given you."
Remo looked at his hands. They were thinner than they were when he began, decades ago. But they had knowledge now and sensitivity he could not have even imagined before.
"You're right, little father," said Remo.
"So let us leave this temporary country you happened to be born in, and once, just once, serve Sinanju, whose treasures you lost."
"I didn't lose them, little father. They were stolen," said Remo. Chiun headed for the door.
"We're missing Sea World and Future World while you deny guilt," said Chiun.
"There was this thing that could have melted the polar ice cap. I am sorry that the collected treasures of Sinanju were stolen, but I didn't steal them. That Korean intelligence guy stole them. Not my fault someone killed him before he told you where he put them. It was his trick to get you to work for North Korea."
"Exactly. Your fault," said Chiun.
"How is it my fault?" asked Remo.
"If you had been willing to serve other countries, North Korea never would have had to steal our treasures to get our services."
"That's like blaming the people who won't give in to the terrorists for what the terrorists do. It's nonsense."
"We have never recovered the treasure. Five thousand years of treasure. Gone. Your fault."
"You didn't spend it anyhow, little father. It sat there for five thousand years. Tribute from Alexander and the Mings. How many thousands of mint-condition Roman coins lay in that house? And stuff that isn't even valuable nowadays. A chunk of aluminum from 1000 B.C., when it was a rare metal; hell, a case of soda would be worth more today. "
Remo was feeling good again. And so was Chiun, seeing Remo come back with his usual ingratitude. He was healthy again. As they walked out to the road that would take them to Epcot Center, Chiun told Remo of the wonders of the world and emperors yet to be served, of treasures they could exact, of tricks they could use to manipulate the wisest leaders. There was a great new day waiting out there for the services of Sinanju, but first, Chiun wanted to see Future World.
Smith arrived at the condo and found Remo and Chiun were out. He had to wait until evening. When he noticed the unmistakable smooth movement of Remo and Chiun's walk, it was getting dark.
"I'm glad you're back, Remo. We don't have much time," said Smith.
"Yeah, I want to talk to you about that, Smitty. I'm afraid this is the end of the line."
"Stop joking, Remo. America has been penetrated by a Russian no one's been able to stop. The world's going to end. "
"That's what you said when the treasure of Sinanju was stolen. Five thousand years of Sinanju tributes stolen, and almost none of it recovered," said Remo.
Chiun was so pleased he almost cried. Of course, Remo was breaking the basic rule in dealing with an emperor. One never told an emperor the truth. One allowed an emperor to find the truth one presented. An emperor was never wrong or to blame. An emperor was the person who could take the right course when that course was laid out clearly for him.
Remo should have learned the proper good-byes. Chiun would show him. Remo would need them now that they would be servicing many clients. The long years of serving the mad emperor Smith, who had never used Sinanju to seize the American throne called the presidency, were over now.
Chiun chose the most florid of laudations to lay at the feet of Harold W. Smith, who had already gone down in the histories of Sinanju as the mad white emperor in the land discovered by Chiun.
It took twenty minutes to deliver them, and at the end, Smith thanked Chiun, and then said to Remo:
"What are you waiting for? We've got to start the briefing. This is a complicated matter."
"Smitty, when Chiun told you the glorious name of Harold W. Smith would live on in the histories of Sinanju, eclipsing Alexander, Augustus of Rome, and the great pharaohs, he meant good-bye. It's good-bye for me, too."
"But you can't. Not now."
"Now's as good a time as any, Smitty. I think I've done my job for America. Good-bye."
Smith followed the two of them into their condominium. It was on the ground floor and had a small screened porch facing the water fountain. The spray masked sounds more effectively than any electronic device.
"Which country are you going to serve? You can tell me that at least," said Smith. The problem here was that in his heart, Smith knew Remo was right. Remo had done more for the country than any single man ever had. He had done it year after year after year. He never flagged and he never failed. And what had America given him'? There had to be a time when it all stopped, even for a patriot.
Remo answered that he did not know which country they were going to.
"I may not even work for anyone. I may just rest and look at palm trees and pyramids. I don't know. I'm tired. I'm more than tired. I was tired years ago. It's over, Smitty. Good-bye. And good luck."
"So it isn't determined yet who you will work for?"
"No," said Remo.
"Let me speak to Chiun a moment, if I may."
"You won't understand him."
"Let me try," said Smith.
Remo went into the main bedroom, where Chiun was packing his kimonos.
"He wants to talk to you," said Remo.
"Aha. Now you will see him bid for our services. You should come and watch. Now you will see as I have always suspected that the tributes of gold brought by American submarines to the village of Sinanju might only have been a pittance."
"I'd rather not see," said Remo. He knew Chiun would never understand that Smith served a country he believed in and it was not his private gold but the property of the taxpayers of America. It was a country Remo still felt for. He would always be an American, and he didn't want to be there while his country was twisted by a thousand-year-old manipulation.
Remo was going because he was going, and that was it. Smith did not hear Chiun enter the porch, but then he never heard Chiun. He was gazing at the fountains when he noticed Chiun was there, totally composed as always, and looking not one day older than he had when first they met and he was told this was the man who would train the one enforcement arm for CURE.
"It's been a long time, Chiun. I want to say thank you, for America is honored to have had the magnificent services of the House of Sinanju."
"Sinanju is honored, most gracious one," said Chiun. Just when they were leaving, Mad Harold of America was learning how to speak to his assassin.
"I hear you are going to bid out your services," said Smith.
"We can never find one as gracious, O Emperor," said Chiun.
"May we bid also?"
"We will always consider the offer of the gracious Harold. "
"We have shipped gold regularly in amounts that are now twenty times the size of what they were the first year. How can we improve?"
"If it were just gold, O wise one, we would never leave your sublime service. But as you know, the treasure of the House of Sinanju is missing. Five thousand years of collected tribute is gone."