"Yes, but only because the needs of the Emperor demand it, do I endure such abuse."
Halfway to Oklahoma City, Remo turned to the Master of Sinanju and asked, "So, fess up. What'd he say?"
Chiun made a distasteful face.
"It is a very grave insult Japanese fling at one another. I am astonished that jokabare would have the temerity to cast it at me."
"Okay, so what's it mean?"
"'Your honorable self."'
Remo blinked. "That sounds like a compliment to me."
"It is not. It is very sarcastic and insulting, coming as it does from Japanese lips."
Remo shrugged. "If you say so."
"You do not understand the Japanese mind, Remo. They live out their lives in terrible frustration because they know they can never be Korean. It grates upon them."
"Must be hard," Remo said dryly.
Chiun nodded. "On the way out, I will get him back."
"Listen, it was bad enough you jammed his film down his throat. Just leave it alone."
"I will call him an even worse name," Chiun confided.
"Like what?"
Chiun rattled off a mouthful of Japanese Remo couldn't sort out into consonants or vowels. "What's that mean?"
"'Your mother's belly button pokes out.'"
"Your mother is an outie?"
"It is a very bad thing to say to a Japanese." Remo swallowed his emerging smile.
"It's your neck. If you want to stick it out like that, go ahead. Let's hope he doesn't go postal."
"I do not understand this going postal. This disgruntledness. Why is this, Remo?"
"Maybe if we finally get to the Oklahoma City post office, we'll both know."
THE OKLAHOMA CITY post office still bore a few scars from the 1995 explosion of the Alfred P. Murrah building only a few blocks away, Remo saw as the cab dropped them off. At the same time, another cab dropped off a petite blond woman clutching an oversize shoulder bag. She hurried into the building, looking as if witches were chasing her.
"Behold, Remo-a postal worker."
"How can you tell?"
"Observe the frightened cast of the face, the nervous, erratic gestures. This one is clearly on the verge of posting someone or something."
"You mean going postal, and I think she's just in a hurry, Little Father."
As they were going in, the blond woman suddenly came spilling out. She did not look happy.
One heel caught on a step, and she went pitching forward. Remo caught her. And caught a clear look at her delicate-featured face.
"Don't I know you?" Remo asked, setting her on her feet.
She shook her blond shag, and every hair fell back into place as if individually trained.
"No. You never saw me before," she said distractedly. She avoided their eyes guiltily.
Remo looked closely. "I know that voice."
"I'm not from around here."
"I, too, recognize the voice," said Chiun, stroking his beard thoughtfully.
They studied her thin face, her sassy blond shag and red lips. Her nose was perfect, her complexion almost golden. She had the bluest eyes Remo had ever seen.
"You can let go now," she told Remo, pulling away. A pouty lilt in her voice struck Remo's ear.
"Tamayo Tanaka!" he exploded.
"Who?" the woman said.
"Cut the crap," snapped Remo. "I know that voice."
"Yes," added Chiun. "You are Tamayo Tanaka, and you have turned white."
"Shh. Okay, okay. You got me. I'm on undercover assignment."
"In Oklahoma City? You're a Boston reporter."
"The station sent me to New York City to cover the bombings there, and I made the connection with the courtroom shooting, so I came here. I'm the only reporter covering both angles of the story."
"What is wrong with your eyes?" Chiun asked.
"Nothing."
"They are round. Tamayo Tanaka possesses Japanese eyes."
"Oh, that. Don't tell anyone. But this is my undercover disguise. I dab this gel at the corners of my eyes, and when it dries it stretches them so they look round. But we'll let that be our little secret, okay?"
"You are mad," Chiun retorted. "You are not a Japanese who has turned white! You are a white that has turned Japanese! Why would anyone in their right mind seek to appear so?"