"I will teach you more about driving," Anna promised. Ahead, the convertible surged ahead. The line was moving.
"You are already obligated to teach me all you know," replied the Master of Sinanju. "You cannot bargain with what you have already bartered away."
Anna said nothing. The Master of Sinanju was right. The line of cars inched forward while Anna thought. "It is important to my country that I recover our lost shuttle," she said.
"I am glad it is important to someone," Chiun sniffed. He sent the car bouncing forward. This time he braked with nearly two milimeters to spare between his bumper and the convertible's. He was very pleased.
Anna Chutesov folded her arms angrily. She was not going to get angry, she told herself. She was not going to betray her need. And most of all, she was not going to give in.
Then she saw the sign. It was a rude wooden sign, a piece of plywood nailed to a railroad tie and planted in the dirt at the roadside. A legend was scrawled on the board with what appeared to be sloppy blue paint: YURI GAGARIN
FREE CAR WASH NEXT RIGHT
"I must see that car wash," Anna Chutesov pleaded. "Name your price."
"Help me hold on to my son," said Chiun instantly.
"Done," agreed Anna Chutesov. "It is the next right," she added.
"I know. I had already decided to go there anyway," said Chiun. "Heh, heh. Too bad you were not more patient. "
Chapter 9
The car wash was constructed of aluminum and white tile, as if it had been designed by an architect who had practiced by building municipal lavatories. The sign over the entrance port read YURI GAGARIN FREE CAR WASH in neat black lettering. The building stood at the bottom of the exit ramp, in a blacktop oasis surrounded by high grass and weeds. It was doing a booming business. Every minute or two, another car rolled in one end and came out the other, glistening as if new.
Anna Chutesov examined the building critically as the Master of Sinanju sent their car jouncing along until they were third in line at the entrance.
"There is something wrong with this place," Anna said aloud.
"I agree," said the Master of Sinanju, watching a fly buzz the windshield.
"You do?"
"Yes. This free business. It is very wrong. It is un-American. "
"I was referring to the name over the entrance. Yuri Gagarin."
"A Russian name," said Chiun distastefully. The fly alighted inches from his face and began rubbing its forelegs together. Chiun hit the windshield-wiper switch. The fly took off just ahead of the sweeping blades.
"Ah, now you understand."
"Of course. Only a Russian would offer something good for nothing. I told you it was un-American." Chiun stopped the wipers in mid-sweep.
"Yuri Gagarin was the name of the first cosmonaut shot into outer space."
"What did he do wrong?" asked Chiun, watching the fly as it returned to its former spot, next to one of the motionless blades.
"Nothing. Being shot into space is considered a great honor for a Soviet citizen."
"In the days of Caligula, having your head dipped in a vat of cooling tallow was considered an honored way to depart this world also," said Chiun, hitting the switch again. The fly looped off just ahead of the lazy wiper blade. "Especially when compared with the more common practice of being torn apart by lions."
Anna Chutesov sighed. "Yuri Gagarin was killed in an aviation accident in 1968."
"His son, then."
"The son of a Soviet hero would not stoop to operating a car-wash machine in America."
"Why not? The best citizens of the world come to these shores. America is a land of opportunity. All are welcome here."
"Those words seem hollow coming from so exalted a personage."
"At least we agree on one thing," said Chiun, watching the fly buzz the wipers curiously.
"That you are full of hot air?"
Chiun made a face. "No, that I am an exalted personage. Although I much prefer the term 'awesome.' 'Illustrious' is good too."
"Yuri Gagarin is the name given to the Soviet spacecraft I am seeking. See those tracks of burned rubber on the road? I believe they were made by the craft. They lead directly to the car-wash building."
"So?" asked Chiun, turning off the wipers and pretending to look elsewhere.
"So this is no coincidence," said Anna Chutesov. "The enterprising owner of yon car-wash machine renamed it in honor of the exiled Gagarin after the craft named after him ventured through his establishment. Perhaps it was his first customer. American merchants always celebrate the first customer-although everyone knows it is the customer you are dealing with at a given moment who is the most important." And without looking at the windshield, he hit the wiper switch. The fly became a smear on the glass. The smear was obliterated on the reverse sweep, causing the Master of Sinanju to smile delightedly.
"The Yuri Gagarin would not deviate from its mission merely to undergo a wash-and-wax treatment," answered Anna Chutesov huffily.
"No! Did you not tell me that there are no such machines as these in your native Russia?"
"What has that to do with anything?"
"Have you a better explanation than the one the Master of Sinanju has put forth?"
"No," said Anna Chutesov miserably, as the yawning entrance loomed nearer, like a great cubistic cavern.
"Our turn has come," said Chiun, and he sent the car bouncing and lurching into the darkened interior of the Yuri Gagarin Free Car Wash.
A uniformed attendant stepped up to Chiun's side of the car.
"Put the car into neutral and take your foot off the brake," he instructed.
"What is neutral?" asked Chiun, noticing the attendant's nametag.
"You kiddin' me, bud?"
"Never mind, I will do it," said Anna, batting the gearshift lever into the neutral position.
"You got a funny accent there, lady," said the attendant. "Where're you from?"
"Moscow."
"That near Russia?" he asked suspiciously.
"Too near," said Anna Chutesov.
"I don't like them Russians," the attendant opined.
"It is mutual, I am sure," said Anna Chutesov in a voice like a brook freezing over.
"What do we do next?" asked Chiun.
"Don't you know?" said the attendant.
"We are new," said Chiun, "to the mysteries of American car washing."
"Just roll up your windows and enjoy the ride."
"But how will I converse with the menials who do the washing? I may wish to urge them on in their important tasks."
The attendant laughed. "There ain't no other meat machi-I mean men, here. Just me. Machines do all the work."
"Machines?" said Anna Chutesov. "Then you are the owner?"
"Nope. He's in the booth at the other end. I just make sure the cars go in okay."
"But you said you were the only person here," Anna pointed out.
"I am," said the attendant as he set the chocks that locked the car onto the moving track. The car began to glide toward hanging black leather strips. Anna shut the electric windows.
"That poor man," said Chiun sadly.
"What about him?"
"He has fallen greatly in life."
"You know him?"
"He was once of royal blood. Now he tends machines."
"How can you tell he is royalty?"
"The monogram device over his pocket. It said that he was once an earl."
"Oh," said Anna Chutesov as the black leather strips slapped the windshield and nozzles on either side began spouting water. "He reminded me of the fat military males of my country. He would look more at home with a weapon in his hands."
"Hush," commanded the Master of Sinanju imperiously. "I wish to enjoy this uniquely American experience in peace."
Anna Chutesov lapsed into silence. She too was interested in the mechanical features of the car wash. But most of all she was interested in having a talk with the owner in the booth once they reached the other end-the man who had named his establishment after a Soviet people's hero but who hired Russian-hating staff.