"The villagers who did not compete sold trinkets and made music and danced and feasted, and the celebration of Wang the Invincible was a day of gaiety and cheer for all.
"But during one festival— the last— a small child wandered away from the village toward the seashore. It was a windy day, and the sea was turbulent, tossing many beautiful shells onto the seaweed-strewn rocks of the coast. The child saw the shells and, since he was alone, climbed down the rocks to play with them. But the rocks were slippery, and the ocean wild. The child was drowned.
"When Wang heard of the tragedy, he visited the child's grieving parents. They had dressed the drowned boy in his best clothes and laid him out before burial. It was there that Wang noticed that the boy's fingers had been scraped nearly to the bone. He realized that the boy had not been drowned quickly, but had clung to life until his last breath on some cold piece of rock. And he knew also that the boy had called for help for all the terrible hours that he held onto the rock, but no one could hear him above the music and laughter of the festival. You see, no one was listening— not even Wang, whose duty it was to protect the people of his village."
"But— but it wasn't his fault," Remo said.
"No? For the pleasure of an afternoon, Wang had permitted a life to be sent into the Void unnecessarily. Was he not to blame?"
Remo was quiet for some moments. "What did he do?" he asked at last.
"What you have planned," Chiun said. "As penance for his negligence, he took himself to the caves of Sinanju, where he lived in solitude for thirty years without even the sound of another voice to comfort him."
Remo nodded. It was a stiff sentence, but he could see the justice of it.
"During that time, invading armies tore the village of Sinanju to pieces, until there were no crops, no trades— not even fish in the sea. The conquering prince knew that without Wang the villagers would offer no resistance, and so he took what he wanted from Sinanju and then left it to die. The villagers grew so poor that they had to send their infant children back to the sea because there was no food for them.
"Then, in his fifty-seventh year, Wang returned to Sinanju. Seeing the ruins of his village, he realized that the thirty years he had spent atoning for his sin had been wasted. For in those thirty years, the drowned boy had not returned to life, and Wang had not been present to fight for his village either.
"He went to the ocean in anguish, and asked of the God of the Sea, 'Why was it ordained thus? The sacrifice of three decades of my life was for nothing. It has brought only more failure and more shame to my heart.'
"The sea rumbled. The sky darkened. At last the voice of the God of the Sea boomed out like a thunderclap: 'Has it brought enough, then?' And at last Wang understood that sometimes the only way to learn is to fail.
"On that day did Wang go forth to distant lands, trading his skills in exchange for gold to feed the starving people of Sinanju. To accomplish this, he had to set aside his shame over the past for the sake of the future. For he realized that although he was not a perfect man, he would do his best and never look back. It was then and only then that Wang became Master. He was the first, and the greatest of us all. Do you not think, my son, that Wang's failure was as much a part of him as his successes?"
Remo nodded slowly. "Thank you, Little Father," he whispered.
"Have some rice. But don't eat it all."
?CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Early evening was Al Meecher's favorite time of day. Especially the half-hour between six and six-thirty. His dinner was over and the dishes were stacked and dried. That was when he poured himself a second cup of coffee from the pot on the stove and took it into the living room, where he could read the evening paper, sip his coffee, and relax. For a short time, he could forget about his failing business, his ex-wife and her shark lawyer, and the ever-increasing stack of bills on the hall table.
Meecher's wife had left him a year before, taking every cent in the savings and joint checking accounts. She'd also taken the family dog, a cocker spaniel named Bingo. It had only taken a few weeks for Meecher to realize that he missed the dog a hell of a lot more than he did his wife. The dog had been loyal, cheerful, and obedient— everything Ethel hadn't been.
Meecher settled into the padded armchair and took a sip of coffee. Maybe, he thought, opening his paper, he ought to get another dog. He certainly couldn't afford another wife. But a dog would be nice. He let the idea roam free in his mind for a few seconds. It was just the kind of undemanding companionship he needed. Someone to share this big, empty apartment with. Someone who'd sit with him on the balcony and watch the world go by. The only view the balcony offered was of the monolithic Dream Date building across the street, but for Meecher and his dog, it would be enough.
Now that the idea had taken hold, Meecher knew it was right. Ethel and the shark lawyer would probably bleed him dry, but they wouldn't get his dog, not this time. He was so pleased at the prospect of a new Bingo that he put down the paper, unread for the first time in years. He padded into the bedroom, slipped on a sports coat, and picked up his wallet from the dresser. The pet store on Sunrise Avenue was still open.
Meecher felt a growing sense of excitement. Maybe this was what he'd needed all along, another purpose to his life, no matter how small it might be. This just might be a turning point, he decided. Maybe a dog would help turn his life around. He whistled cheerfully as he headed for the door. His plump hand was on the knob when the doorbell rang. Probably Morty from down the hall, he thought. He'd invite Mort along. Morty would get a real kick out of helping Meecher choose Bingo II.
Smiling, Meecher opened the door. There was a soft, popping sound as a single bullet from the silenced Colt pierced his heart. He sagged to his knees and then toppled over, hitting the carpeted foyer with a gentle thud.
"Let's get him inside," Bauer said. "We wouldn't want to disturb the neighbors."
Quantril nodded. He took hold of one of the dead man's wrists. With Bauer holding onto the other one, they dragged Meecher's body into the bedroom and propped him up against the dresser.
"I wonder what the rent is on this place," Bauer said.
Quantril laughed. "I don't know. But I think they just had a vacancy."
Bauer grinned before he disappeared through the doorway. With his gun in hand, he checked out the rest of the place. There was no one in the other rooms. From the look of things, the late Al Meecher had lived alone.
When he came back to the living room, Quantril was out on the pocket-sized terrace. "Terrific view," Quantril said, nodding toward the Dream Date building on the opposite side of the street. The tall steel-and-glass structure rose sixty stories upward. On the top, a blinking red light flashed a warning signal to low-flying aircraft.
Leaning against the terrace railing, Bauer peered up at the skyscraper. "This time it's got to work," he said nervously.
"It will. Every detail has been taken care of. All my records will be destroyed, and the annoying matter of those two idiots will be cleared up in the process."
"What if they don't come to the building?"
"Where else would they go?" Quantril said, exasperated. "Your sentries spotted them coming this way, didn't they?"
Bauer nodded.
"And the police weren't with them?"
"No. They must be a couple of thrill seekers or something. No cops within half a mile."
"So it's just a matter of time before they get themselves killed."
"If you say so," Bauer conceded uncertainly.
"I do say so. Do you think I want them alive? I've taken a big loss myself, you know. The whole monastery setup is blown, and I've got all those women to replace." He walked into the living room and slumped down on Meecher's easy chair with a sigh. "It'll work," he said. "They can't get out of this one. The back-up's foolproof."
Bauer was on edge, restless and uneasy. He wandered aimlessly around the living room, picking up the newspaper and then tossing it back to the floor unopened.
"Stop pacing," Quantril ordered. "It's making me nervous."
Bauer forced himself to sit down. "It's just…"
"Just what?" Quantril asked irritably.
"I recognized that guy on the roof. Name's Remo Williams. He served under me in Nam."
"So?"
"He's supposed to be dead. I read about it a long time ago. Some drug thing. Williams got the chair."
"Looked like a pretty lively corpse to me."
"It was the same guy. I know it was."
"You're sure you didn't hit him at the monastery?"
"Yeah," Bauer said. "The long-haired kid got in the way."