"Pah. Spoken like a fork-tongued redskin."
"Now, cut that out. Besides, it was the white man who spoke with forked tongue."
"And you are part white. Your mother was white. The forking of your tongue must come from your mother."
"If you keep insulting my mother, this is going to be a short conversation," Remo warned.
"You are white. Do not deny this."
"White. Sun On Jo. Korean. Probably some Navajo, too. Sunny Joe tells me I have a few drops of Irish, Italian and Spanish blood. Maybe some others. We're not sure who all my mother's ancestors were."
"That is another way of saying 'mongrel.'"
"I like the way for years you've been trying to convince me I'm part Korean, and now that we know it's true, you're throwing my white genes back in my face."
"Dirty laundry is dirty laundry," Chiun sniffed.
"That's not what I meant by 'genes.' And wasn't the first Master of Sinanju supposed to have been Japanese?"
Chiun's cheeks puffed out in righteous indignation. "A canard. Told by ninjas to advance their trade."
Remo looked away. "Forget I brought it up."
Chiun dropped his voice. "It is time we left this treeless place, Remo."
"Not me. I'm staying."
"How long?"
"Don't know. I kinda like it here. It's open and clean, and there are hardly any telephones."
"Emperor Smith has work for us."
Remo eyed Chiun. "You been in touch with him?"
"No. But he always has work for the House. And the House is never idle. It cannot afford to be idle, for now there are two villages to support."
"Don't try that con on me. The tribe is doing fine. Sunny Joe has plenty of money. And they know how to grow their own food—which is more than I can say for the people of Sinanju."
Chiun sat up in his saddle. "There are no fish in a desert."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nor have I seen any ducks."
"Say it so I understand it," Remo promised.
"One cannot live on rice alone."
"I've been branching out."
Chiun started. "You have not eaten swine?"
"Of course not."
"Nor steer beef?"
"My beef days are long over. You know that."
"Then what?"
"That," Remo said, "is between me and my honored ancestors."
The Master of Sinanju regarded his pupil critically, as if measuring him. He leaned forward in his saddle. "Your color is different."
"I'm out in the sun more. I'm tanning."
"The whites of your eyes are no longer the good hue of rice."
"My eyes see fine."
"I detect a yellowing. Faint but discernible."
Remo pretended to be interested in a red-tailed hawk balancing itself on a low thermal.
And leaning forward even more, Chiun began to sniff the air delicately. "Corn!" he howled. "I smell corn upon your fetid breath! You have sunk into eating filth and swill. Next you will stoop to digging potatoes from the dirt and gnawing them raw."
"There's nothing wrong with Sun On Jo maize. It's grown naturally and tastes great."
"You cannot eat corn."
"Ko Jong Oh ate corn."
"Who told you that lie!"
"Sunny Joe. All the Sunny Joes descended from Ko Jong Oh ate corn. It was the sun food."
"He is called Kojong, and maize cannot sustain a Master of Sinanju. It lacks goodness."
"Maybe. But mixed in with rice it's great. I haven't had com in maybe twenty years."
"I forbid you to eat maize."
"Too late. I've developed a taste for it. I'm not going back to rice and only rice."
"Of course not. You must also have fish and duck."