Remo did not reply. He only stared. A new food. A new taste sensation. He had to keep swallowing because his mouth juices were erupting like a liquid volcano. His hands reached for a spoon, but something inside him made him hesitate. A new food. Maybe after this there would be no more new foods. Chiun was right. This was a moment to savor.
"Have you-nothing to say?" Chiun inquired at length.
"I'm speechless," Remo said sincerely. "Really, Chiun, this is wonderful. Egg-lemon soup."
"From an ancient Korean recipe."
"This is great. How very thoughtful, Little Father. And only last week you were harping on me to let my fingernails grow long like yours."
"Speak not of trivial quarrels on this auspicious morning," Chiun said magnanimously.
"Sorry," Remo said sheepishly. His eyes were not on Chiun, but on the bowl. It still steamed. But he could see the broth now. It was yellowish-white. And in it tiny dark specks floated. The sight filled his eyes to brimming as the aroma filled his nostrils. Remo felt almost as if he were going to cry with the sheer joy of discovery.
"Egg-lemon soup," he said under his breath. And it was a prayer.
"I will let you pour," Chiun said suddenly, clapping his hands.
"Gladly," Remo said, bolting from his seat. He scooped up the large bowl and ladled out the heated broth, filling first Chiun's bowl and then his own. He replaced the bowl and sat again. He stared into his own bowl. His hands, holding the ladle and a spoon, almost trembled.
"You may go first."
Remo hesitated. Then, dropping the ladle, he dug in. He brought the first hot spoonful to his mouth. He hesitated again. Chiun's eyes were eager as they watched him, his wise old face beaming with pride. This was a sacred moment.
Remo blew on the spoon to cool the broth. He took his first spoonful. It seared his tongue like acid.
"Hooo!" he said, swallowing.
"Good?"
"Strong."
"It has been a long time since your tongue has tasted such nectar. I recommend small sips."
"Okay," said Reano. The second spoonful was pungent. It slid down his throat with all the fire of a shot of good Kentucky bourbon. The third taste was merely sharp. Remo found himself able to take larger doses. He drank up the bowl greedily, not even noticing that Chiun had not even tasted his own.
"More?" asked Chiun. Remo nodded.
"I am glad you like it," Chiun remarked as he refilled Remo's bowl. Only then did he sample his own bowl. He sipped from the spoon lightly, showing none of the strong reaction that had come with Remo's first flavorful sips.
Remo was on his third bowl when a thought occurred to him.
"This is really excellent, Little Father, but if you were able to eat this stuff all these years, why didn't you?"
"Egg-lemon soup is reserved for full Masters, which I have been for all the years that you have known me, but which you have achieved only recently."
"So, why'd you abstain?"
"Could the father eat so well and let his only child go without?"
"All these years," Remo said, looking up from the nearly empty bowl. "All these years you sacrificed. For me."
"A father's duty," said Chiun, who was not really Remo's father, but in many ways was more, much more than that.
"I am honored by your sacrifice," Remo said quietly. "And only yesterday you were telling me that it was time for me to grow a beard like your own. And I told you to go stuff it."
"A harsh memory, but on this night we transcend such petty arguments," Chiun said loftily. "More?"
"Yes," said Remo, holding out his bowl.
After consuming every last drop, Remo spoke up. "I feel ashamed, Little Father," he said quietly.
"On such a night?" Chiun squeaked. He brushed Remo's admission aside as if it were inconsequential. "It is of no moment."
"But I should explain."
"It is nothing."
"But I'd really like to," Remo repeated. "I cut you off, about the beard and the fingernails, because we've had these discussions many times before. But I don't want you to think I don't honor you. I do. It's just that this is America. Customs are different. I could grow a beard, but it's just not me. As for my fingernails, as I've explained to you before, in America only women go about with their fingernails long."
"And Masters of Sinanju," added Chiun.
"Yes, and Masters of Sinanju. But you're Korean. You can get away with it. But the work we do for Smith and America requires that I sometimes go undercover. I can't have long fingernails. I'd stick out. It would defeat the whole purpose. You can understand that?"
And the Master of Sinanju surprised Remo by saying a simple, "Yes, I understand perfectly."
Remo's concerned expression relaxed. He nodded when Chiun held up a steaming ladle. Remo's bowl came up again. This was the fifth bowl, but the soup was so light that Remo felt as if he could drink it all night.
As he dug in again under Chiun's approving gaze, Remo thought of another question.
"One other thing puzzles me, Little Father."
"Yes?"
"I thought we couldn't eat eggs."
"We cannot. But egg-lemon soup is different."
"Oh. I seem to remember you telling me that even the white of the egg was poison to us. The yolk would turn our dead bones to powder."
"And so it would. But this is egg-lemon soup."
"Its lemony, all right. But I don't seem to taste much egg."
"It is there. The lemon simply masks its taste."
"And these crunchy things," said Remo, looking at the dark specks floating in his spoon. "What are they? Almond slices?"