"No," replied the High Moo. "You must watch their fingers too. The snapping they make keeps the time. One snap means one moon. Ten snaps, and a year has passed."
"Oh, yes. Now I understand."
"Do you understand too?" the High Moo asked of Remo.
"Are you kidding? I was born knowing this stuff," Remo assured him, absently taking a wooden bowl from the old woman with the drooping breasts.
The aroma had to fill his nostrils before Remo realized what he had been offered.
"Hey," he said. "This is egg-lemon soup. Where did it come from?"
"I made it," Chiun told him.
"When? You were here all the time."
"During the break in the dance."
"What break in the dance?"
"The one where the maidens were not dancing, but instead formed two lines and swayed in imitation of the ocean at rest after Old Moo sank."
"I thought that was the best part. I was hypnotized."
"You would. Drink your soup."
Remo started in on the soup. He drank it straight from the bowl when no one offered him a spoon. He figured it was the native custom.
The Low Moo watched Remo drink down his third bowl, wondering what kind of a man found naked peasant girls so fascinating. He did not take his eyes off them. Unlike the others, she knew that Remo was not watching the dance, but the dancers. It was strange. But he was from a strange land, she told herself, where all women covered their breasts. The princess had thought that in America every woman was of royal blood, but the Master of Sinanchu had assured her such was not the case.
Still, why was Remo watching them when the Low Moo herself sat at his elbow? Could it be that he really did prefer rabbits to girls? But then why did he stare? Perhaps, she thought, he had never seen a woman naked before, being interested only in female rabbits.
"Is the soup to your liking, Remo?" she breathed in his ear.
"Yeah, yeah. Great soup. I could use another bowl," he said distractedly. His eyes did not leave the peasant dancing girls.
The Low Moo decided to experiment. "Remo," she whispered.
"Yeah?" he said, not looking in her direction. "Look, I will show you something."
"I'm seeing something," he replied dreamily.
"I will show you something you have never seen."
"Yeah?" Remo looked. "What's that?"
The Low Moo was smiling at him. His eyes were not fully focused. The Low Moo changed that when she pulled down the top of her costume.
Remo blinked. His eyes focused like a zoom lens. "Are you going to dance too?" he asked.
"No. Not that way. I may dance for you in private." And she quickly covered up, content that she had learned the truth.
At least Remo did like human females even if he did have low tastes. Perhaps she would do something to elevate them.
She leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I want to poon you."
Remo grinned. He turned to the Master of Sinanju. "What does poon mean?" he asked.
"Eat! Eat!" Chiun snapped, noticing Remo's nearly full bowl. "And stop asking foolish questions when I am conversing with the High Moo."
A splendid tropical moon lifted from the Pacific. It ascended into the sky, growing smaller and smaller as it sought the very pinnacle of the star-sprinkled heavens.
The fires grew dimmer, and the Moovian girls had given up their dancing. They took their places in the circle and began tearing chunks of meat off the roasting pigs and ate it with their fingers, laughing and giggling.
Many pairs of flashing black eyes looked Remo's way. He watched their bodies, tawny and impossibly smooth in the firelight. He decided he might like life on Moo after all.
The Master of Sinanju watched the fires die. He felt the eyes of the High Moo upon him. Good. The High Moo was doubtless impressed by the wise countenance of the Master of Sinanju as seen in profile. No doubt he was struck with awe at having come face-to-face with the ancestor of him who faithfully served the High Moo's earliest ancestors. Probably he was even now offering prayers of thankfulness to his many gods for the winds that brought Sinanju to him.
The High Moo regarded the profile of the Master of Sinanchu in puzzlement. The Master of Sinanchu described by the oral traditions of Moo was a tall sturdy man with thick black hair and smooth golden skin like a Moovian's. The Masters of Sinanchu wore strange leggings and loose shirts. This old man came swathed in something that belonged on a woman. And where were his weapons? The High Moo could stand it no longer. He had to ask.
"I have a question, Master of Sinanchu."
"I have the answers to your every question," the Master of Sinanju replied firmly.
"You carry no weapons. Are they on your ship?"
"They are not on my ship, for I carry them with me wherever I go," said the Master of Sinanju cryptically.
"I do not see them."
"These," said the Master of Sinanju, raising his longnailed fingers in the firelight. "These are my weapons. In my language they are called the Knives of Eternity, for I enter the world with them and I take them with me when I at last go into the Void beyond the stars."
"Masters of Sinanchu in the days of Great Moo carried swords. "
"Masters of Sinanju in the time of Great Moo did not know the sun source, which enabled us to unlock the full potential of our minds and bodies. That era began with the Great Wang-not to be confused with the lesser Wang, of course."
"They were younger. Every Master I have heard of was young and strong of arm, the better to deal with the High Moo's enemies.'
"Youth is not everything. Age has its benefits," Chiun said. "For with age comes wisdom. And wisdom sometimes reveals a path where force is not needed."
"I am the High Moo. I rule by the strength of my arm and the hardness of my war club," said the High Moo. He patted an ebony club that leaned against one leg.
Chiun sniffed. "A club can be broken or a blade taken away. But the mind is the mind."
"Brains can be clubbed out of a man's skull," returned the High Moo.
"If it is your wish to behold the color of your enemies' brains, I will undertake it," said Chiun with veiled distaste. "For, thousands of years ago, an unearned down payment of Moovian coin fed my village, and service is still owned Moo."