"You know the story of Sinanju, the village of my birth, the village of my father and my father's father and his father before him; of our poverty, of our babies for whom there was naught to eat and who during times of famine would be sent home in the cold waters to return to the larger womb of the sea.
"This then, Remo, you know. You know how the sons must support the village through their knowledge of the martial arts. You know that my monies are shipped to my village. You know how poor the land is there, and that our only resource is the strength of our sons."
Remo nodded respectfully.
"This you know. But you do not know all. You know I am the Master of Sinanju, but if I am the master, then who is the student?"
"I, little father, am the student," said Remo.
"I was the Master of Sinanju before you were born."
"Then there is someone else."
"Yes, Remo. When I approached that building, the building you could not penetrate, I suspected that you could not penetrate it because if was designed to stop approaches with which you are familiar. When I saw the name of the road leading to the building, I knew who had ordered the construction of that building. I knew there was great danger in there."
"For me, little father?"
"Especially for you. Why do I of such age have such ease in taking you when we practice, despite your death lunges?"
"Because you are the greatest, little father."
"Besides that obvious fact."
"I'm not sure. I guess you know me."
"Correct. I have taught you all the moves you know. I know what you will do. It is like fighting myself as a young man. I know what you will do before you know what you will do. There is someone else who knows what you will do, and he knows this because I taught him. He has trained since birth, and I have not seen his name until I read a sign leading to that building. Then I needed to know no more. The man you face betrayed his calling and his village. The man who can destroy you is named Nuihc, as the road is named."
"I've heard that name from one of the sources I used."
"True. If you reverse the letters you will see that his name and mine are the same."
"He reversed his name?"
"No. I did. This man, the son of my brother, left his village and plied the craft we taught him, and did not return the sustenance to the people who needed him. In shame before my villagers, I, a teacher, reversed my family name, and left my teaching for service abroad. After me, there is no master of Sinanju. After me, there is no one to support the village. After me, starvation."
"I am sorry to hear that, little father."
"Do not be. I have found a student. I have found the new Master of Sinanju to take my place on the day I return home to the womb waters separating China from Korea upon which Sinanju sits like a blessed pearl."
"That is a great honour, little father."
"You will be worthy if you do not allow your arrogance and laziness and impure habits to destroy the magnificence of the progress I have initiated and nurtured."
"Your success but my failure, little father," said Remo smiling. "Don't I get a chance to do anything right?"
"When you will have a pupil you will do everything right," said Chiun with ever so slight a smile, giving himself full approval for a witticism he was sure deserved it.
"This Nuihc. How do I rate next to him?"
Chiun lifted his fingers and closed them to a hair's breadth.
"You are that far away," he said.
"Good," said Remo. "Then I'm in the ball game."
Chiun shook his head. "A close second is not a desirable place to finish in a battle to the death."
"It doesn't have to be a second. I could work something."
"My son, in five years, you will be this much," said Chiun, holding his hands a half-foot apart, "better than he. You must be an aberration of your white race. But this is truth. In five years Nuihc, the ingrate and deserter, will be second place. In five years, I unleash you against the son of my brother and we will bring his kimono back to Sinanju in triumph. In five years there will be no parallel to you. In five years you will surpass even my greatest ancestors. Thus it is written. Thus it is becoming."
Chiun's voice echoed with pride. Lest his pupil indulge in the vanities to which he was so addicted, Chiun added another thought.
"Thus have I made greatness from nothing."
"Little father," said Remo. 'I don't have five years. My country does not have five years. It has until this afternoon."
"It is a big country. So today one group robs it instead of another. It will be here tomorrow, rich and fat. What is your country to you? Your country executed you. Your country forced you into a life you did not seek. Your country unjustly accused you of a crime."
"America is my Sinanju, little father."
Chiun bowed gravely. "This I understand. But if my village had wronged me as you have been wronged, I would not be its master."
"A mother cannot wrong a son…"
"That is untrue, Remo."
"I did not finish. A mother cannot wrong a son to such a degree that he will not save her in time of danger. If you are the father I never had, then this nation is the mother I never had."
"Then in five years give your mother a present of Nuihc's kimono."
"She must have it now. Come with me. The two of us can surely overcome this Nuihc."
"Ah, unfortunately at this stage we would only endanger ourselves. We would have to cross lines of attack only for a fraction of a moment, and we would both be dead. I have trained you as no other man has been trained. Greatness lies on the morrow. You are not some tin soldier to go marching off to his death because bugles call. You are what you are, and what you are does not march foolishly to his death. No training, no skill, no energy or force can overcome the mind of a fool. Do not be a fool. This I command."
"I cannot obey that command, little father." Chiun spun to face his television set, and turning it on, he remained silent.
Remo changed to a loose-fitting suit. The wound had caked and was becoming itchy. He ignored it. At the door to the suite, Remo said good-bye to the Master of Sinanhu.
"Thank you, little father, for what you have given me."
Without turning to set his eyes upon Remo, Chiun spoke.
"You have a chance. He may not conceive that a white man can do what you do."
"Then I do have a chance. Why are you so glum?"
"Chances are for cards and dice. Not for us. My teaching is like the rose fragrance in a north wind."
"Will you wish me luck?"
"You have learned naught," said Chiun, and was silent again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The traffic jam into Nuihc Street stretched for miles, Remo got out of the taxi and trotted past the cars with angry frustrated drivers, men who had been told in the wee hours of the morning that the final day of the convention was to be in a new building, the new headquarters of the International Brotherhood of Drivers.
When a few had complained that they already had a headquarters in Washington, they were told that Washington would be only the drivers' headquarters. Confusing. There were lots of confusing things about their new president. This was one more.
Remo pushed his way through a long line of men at the entrance, weaving and dodging complaints of 'Hey, don't you know how to get in line?"
A few recognized him as the new recording secretary. The guard at the gate was wearing a bandage. Oh, that was the man who had held his fish last night, at the beginning of the long night in which every effort to avoid the extreme plan had failed—and ultimately the extreme plan itself had failed.
The guard did not recognize him in daylight. He looked at Remo's delegate card.
"Oh yeah," said the guard. "Jethro wants to see you. He's right inside."