Chiun sighed. "During the poke. As I explained."
"What poke?"
"Against the smelly bicycle riders in the loud nightclub," Chiun said.
"My poke was not slow."
"I could use a slow-" Johlene interjected.
"Can it!" Remo barked at the stewardess. Her eyes opened a little wider. They glinted. Remo wasn't looking. "Your form was imperfect, as well," Chiun complained.
"You're making up stuff."
"Your form is perfect. Don't listen to him," Johlene said comfortingly to Remo.
"What does it take to offend somebody these days?" Remo demanded.
"Who knows?" the stewardess asked, leaning her bosom into his chest. "Why not call me a few dirty names and see if I leave in a huff."
"Addressing the fraudulent nature of her udders should drive her off," Chiun said with irritation.
Johlene stiffened. "What did he say?"
"Oh, yeah." Remo glared pointedly at the sculpted bustline. "Boob implants. I absolutely can't stand fakes. It turns me off big time."
"But look at them," she pleaded. "They're so firm and symmetrical."
"What have you got in there-aluminum softballs? Yech."
Johlene finally left, and Remo ignored the alternately pleading and disdainful looks she gave him during the rest of the flight.
"Your mean form lacks grace, which is a result of your lack of precision dexterity," Chiun explained when she was gone.
"Say that again, Little Father?"
"Your training was unbalanced. I failed to instill the proper respect for the written word. From the creation of beautiful words on parchment comes the appreciation of beautiful movement of the rest of the body."
"You're joking, right?"
"I joke not."
"Listen, Chiun, the training is done. I'm trained. You did the best you could, and it turns out you are a wonderful teacher. I'm good at my job."
"Your job?" Chiun turned to face him finally. "Is that what Sinanju is to you? An occupation?"
"Of course not."
"Is that why you have decided to stagnate? You have deemed yourself adequate and see no profit in improvement? Oh, Remo, you send all my hopes crashing down like fine crystal goblets pushed off high shelves."
"Oh, brother."
"This is a white attitude. It is the blood of your European ancestors that makes you lazy. I prayed that your Korean blood would give you perseverance. Even the Native Americans who have sullied your ancestry will inherently strive for improvement against the greatest adversity."
"I never said I was going to rest on my laurels!" Remo argued.
"Laurels? How European. How Roman. How like you to use those words."
"It's a figure of friggin' speech. I don't even know what laurels are!"
"I feel grave concern for your future, Remo."
"I thought you felt hopeless."
"I am gravely concerned for your standing among the Masters. I do not want to be known as Chiun, Trainer of Remo the Slothful."
Remo said, "That's what this is about, huh? How I reflect on you in the Sinanju scrolls?"
"Of course! The status of a Master depends in great part on the status of the Master he trains."
"And I'm not good enough?"
"You are not trying hard enough."
"So I haven't been pulling my weight?"
"You are complacent," Chiun replied without hesitation.
Remo didn't answer. He looked at the seat back in front of him and thought about Chiun's words.
This was more than an idle insult-and Chiun was the king of idle insults. The old Master had been considering this. He was sincere.
But was he right?
It sure didn't feel to Remo that he was slacking. He'd had a rough ride of it in recent years, starting with his Rite of Attainment and getting worse as he closed in on the Rite of Succession. Even Chiun had admitted that Remo had faced harder obstacles than most Masters reaching their prime.
Was it possible that his attitude had changed for the worse since he became Reigning Master? Was he slacking?
"Okay, Little Father," he said finally. "First chance we get; I promise, we'll get into the whole penmanship thing."
Chiun narrowed his eyes.
"I mean it," Remo added.
"What are you hiding?"
"I'm not hiding anything. I meant what I said, that's all. I'll take the calligraphy lessons."