"Yes," said Remo.
"Americans are all fools."
As Remo followed the priest and Chiun into the office, he turned. The nine girls had swelled in number to some fifteen. One whispered in Joleen's ear, and Joleen blushed and nodded. The girl clapped. "You must tell us all."
"I wanted to go to Holy Patna too," another girl complained. "But my father took away my Diner's Club Card."
"Come," one girl called to the newer arrivals into the house. "Meet Sister Joleen. She has been to Patna and seen the Master. She has…"
Remo closed the door behind him. The man in the pink robe was sliding behind the desk and graciously waving Chiun and Remo into two soft leather chairs facing it.
"Welcome to our house," he said. "I am Gasphali Krishna, chief arch-priest of the California district."
"Where is the Master?" Remo asked.
Krishna shrugged. "All is in readiness for him here. A suite of rooms has been arranged. Even the electronic games for his amusement."
"Yeah, but where is he?" said Remo.
"We have not talked at all," said Krishna. "Are you disciples?"
Chiun said, "He is a disciple. I am I."
"And who is 'I'?"
"I is a person cheated with promises broken by unfeeling racists."
"Chiun, will you please?"
"It is true. It is true. Tell him the story, and ask him if it is not true."
"What is true is that we are here to make sure all is well for the Master's big thing," Remo told Krishna. "For that, we came from Patna."
Chiun laughed softly. "Master," he said derisively.
"We were told to prepare for his coming," said Krishna. "But he may be staying elsewhere."
"In a zoo. With the other frogs," Chiun mumbled.
"Chiun, would you go outside and talk to the girls? Tell them how wonderful the Master is," said Remo.
And thus it was that the Master of Sinanju did go out of the office where Remo and a fake Indian were talking nonsense, and he did talk to the young women gathered about there, and he did tell them the absolute truth, as long as one did not get too specific about whom he was talking about.
"What think you of the Master?"
"He is the noblest, warmest, kindest person on earth," said the Master of Sinanju.
"Is he perfection itself?"
"Some men approach perfection; he has reached it and gone beyond."
"What is the lesson of his way?"
"Do well and love justice and practice mercy and all will be well with you," said the Master of Sinanju.
"How may we approach perfection?"
"By listening to his words and acting on his dictates," said the Master of Sinanju. "That is a jewel of truth I give you."
"Come. Come hear the wise man. Come learn of the wisdom of the East that recognized the bliss and perfection of the Master."
Thus did the Master of Sinanju comport himself, while nearby, in the small office behind the closed door, Remo and Krishna continued to talk.
After the door had closed behind Chiun, Krishna had removed the pink turban from his head with a hoisting movement of both hands and a mass of reddish blond frizzy curls had exploded around his head.
"Man, that's a drag," he said.
"It's tough being in charge," said Remo.
"Nah, I'm not in charge of anything. They just give me a title and 20 percent of anything I bring in. Man, I'm like a salesman for bliss. Hey, where's that accent from?"
"Newark, New Jersey," said Remo, annoyed at himself because he was no longer supposed to have an accent.
"Put 'er there, old buddy," said Krishna. "Hoboken myself. Newark's changed."
"So has Hoboken," said Remo as Krishna grabbed his hand and pumped it up and down.
"How'd you get into this business?" asked Krishna.
"Just kind of drifted in," said Remo. "You?"
"Well, revolution, man, was out, like they was starting to shoot back. And I didn't really have much stomach for that Third World bullshit. I mean, I guess you could do something with it if you wanted, but so many bad elements. And then this came along a couple of years ago, so I signed up. Dor wasn't so big then, and they needed professional organizers. So old Irving Rosenblatt was Johnny-on-the-spot. But it's like everything else. They start growing, and they're putting their buttered buns in the best jobs. Hey, you like a drink?"
Remo shook his head.
"Grass or something? I got some great shit in from Hawaii."
"No," said Remo. "I'm tapering off."
"Well, the only thing I hate worse than drinking alone is not drinking."
He went to a small cabinet, pulled a bottle from behind a string of books, and poured himself a full glass of Scotch. Chivas Regal. He smiled at Remo. "When the peasants pay, ride first class."
"Everything ready for the big thing?" asked Remo.
"Damned if I know. That's why I'm graumed. They make me the boss out here, and I'm in for 20 percent, and I'm not complaining, 'cause it's been pretty good. But now, when we got the big Blissathon coming up, do they let me run it? No, they send in all these hotshots from every place else, and I don't even get a look." He angrily gulped at the Scotch. "I know what's going to happen. They're going to tell me that the revenue from the Blissathon, man, well that's not part of the San Francisco receipts, and they're gonna try to beat me out of my 20 percent."