Kula took his cup and swallowed it all in one greedy gulp and offered the empty cup for more. Chiun obligingly poured.
The shaved-headed Asian accepted his tea, looked deep into the cup and spoke up. "No yak butter?"
The Master of Sinanju bestowed his pupil with a reproving glare. "Remo, did you forget to churn the yak butter this morning?"
"I must've. Silly me."
Chiun addressed the shaved-headed man. "I apologize for the inefficient white help, Most Holy, but you will have to drink your tea without yak butter."
"It is good tea," boomed Kula, offering his drained cup for the third time.
When all the cups were refilled, Remo whispered to Chiun, "Yak butter?"
"The Most Holy Lobsang Drom is a Tibetan. They put yak butter in their tea," Chiun confided.
"Is that why he smells so bad?"
"Tibetans have many beliefs you would find strange. Bathing regularly is not among them."
"I don't know what smells worse, him or that trunk. Smells like it was stored in a musty cellar."
"It was. Since before you were born."
Remo settled down as tea was imbibed in silence for some time.
At length the Tibetan spoke up. "I am the Most Holy Lobsang Drom Rinpoche. Rinpoche means 'treasured one.' I seek the Light That is Coming. What is your name?" he asked Remo.
"Remo."
"Re-mo?"
"Yeah," said Remo.
"It is a strange name."
"My last name's Buttafuoco."
"Butt-a-fu-"
Remo nodded. "It means 'lies through teeth with head up ass,'" he said with a straight face.
Lobsang Drom nodded somberly. "It is a worthy name."
"For a white," inserted Chiun.
"For a white, it is a perfect name!" roared Kula.
Everyone except Remo laughed and drank to that.
Remo waited for the hilarity to settle down, then asked, "So what's this about?"
"The Bunji Lama," said Chiun, his hands disappearing into the brocaded sleeves of his kimono and the sleeves coming together to form a tube.
"He is lost," said Kula.
"I thought he was in the trunk," said Remo.
"That is the old Bunji Lama," said Kula. "We seek the new Bunji Lama."
"So if you're looking for the new Bunji Lama, why'd you drag the old Bunji Lama all this way?"
Everyone looked at Remo as if he had just asked why they exhaled after each intake of breath.
"The nuns who raised me had a saying-there's no such thing as a stupid question," Remo said.
"These nuns were white, too?" asked Kula.
"Yeah."
"Buddhist nuns?" asked Lobsang Drom.
Chiun answered that: "Christian."
Kula and the Most Holy Lobsang Drom grew wide of eye.
"I have beaten the Christianity out of him," Chiun said hastily. "Most of it. Some remains." He shrugged.
"He is white," Kula pointed out.
"He cannot help being white," Lobsang Drom added.
Everyone agreed that Remo couldn't help being white and if the Master of Sinanju continued beating him regularly, he would renounce the last lingering delusions of Christianity in due time.
Remo sighed. His eyes kept going to the steamer trunk.
"I'm still waiting for the answer to my question," he said. He was ignored.
Instead, Lobsang Drom said, "We have come a great distance to acquire your services, great one whose hands are like swords."
"I cannot help you," Chiun told his visitors sadly.
Kula started. Lobsang Drom slumped where he sat.
"For I serve the white emperor of America who is named Smith," Chiun said, one clawlike hand emerging. His fingernails, like bone blades, flashed in the room's mellow light.
"A simple smith rules this land?" Lobsang Drom asked in surprise.