"What is it?" he asked, puzzled.
"Search me," said Chiun, nibbling on a handful of cashews. "Want one?" he asked politely, offering Remo his open palm.
Remo realized that he held one of Chiun's cashews. He dropped it. "Why'd you have to do that, Chiun?" He demanded angrily. "I almost had him that time."
"O piteous disappointment. O miserable failure," mocked the Master of Sinanju. "Shall I leave the room so that you may end your wretched life from the shame?"
"Knock it off," said Remo, settling back onto the mat. The Master of Sinanju walked over to the window. He came back to Remo's side, executed a deep bow, and offered an upraised palm.
"What's this?" Remo asked sourly.
"The object of your desire. O disappointed one," Chiun said blandly. In his wrinkled palm the fly lay immobile.
"Forget it," Remo said dejectedly. "I don't want it anymore. It's dead."
"It is not," said Chiun. "It is merely stunned. I do not kill flies."
"Unless you're paid," Remo said.
"In advance," Chiun agreed with a smile. "You will not accept this humble present?"
"No," said Remo.
"A minute ago you were most anxious to capture this insect."
"I wanted to do it myself," Remo said testily.
"Then do it yourself," said Chiun, throwing the fly into the air. It took wing and, somewhat unsteadily, orbited the room. "See if I care."
"Okay," Remo said, coming to life. "Just sit quietly and let me handle this."
"While you are handling it, as you say, talk to me, my son. "
"About what?" asked Remo out of the side of his mouth. He had returned to his lotus position and sat still as a stone. "I have invested countless years of my life training a white man in the magnificent art of Sinanju, and I walk into this room to find my pupil engaged in nonsense."
"It's not nonsense. It's a test of skill, catching a fly with chopsticks. The idea is not to hurt him, you know."
"Do tell," Chiun said in a mock-American accent.
"I got the idea from a film I rented."
"What film?" asked the Master of Sinanju, genuinely curious.
"This one," mumbled Remo, surreptitiously touching a remote control unit beside his leg. Across the room, the TV set winked on. Remo pressed another switch and the video recorder on top of the set started to play.
Frowning, the Master of Sinanju watched a scene from the middle of a film. It showed a sweaty teenage boy waxing a car.
"Smith told me about it," Remo said. "He said it reminded him of you and me."
"How so?" asked Chiun.
"It's about an Italian kid from Newark who meets this old Japanese guy. The old guy teaches him karate."
Chiun spit on the floor. "Karate was stolen from us. It is not Sinanju."
"I didn't say it was. But count the similarities. I'm from Newark."
"Your mother's fault, whoever she was."
"Remo is an Italian name. I might be Italian like the kid in the picture."
"Your last name is Williams. That is not Italian."
"No, but Remo is. I don't know who my parents were, but having an Italian first name must mean something."
"It means that your parents could not think of an appropriate name for you," said Chiun.
Remo frowned. "I wish you wouldn't insult my parents so much," he said. "They might be good people. We don't know."
"Better not to know. The disappointment is less painful. "
"Can I finish telling you the story? Now this kid moves to California, where he meets the old Japanese guy, who's a lot like you."
"Show me this old man," demanded Chiun.
Remo, seeing that the fly had returned to the window, came out of his immobile pose and lifted the remote control. He fast-forwarded the tape until a famous Oriental actor appeared on the screen.
"See?" he said, pointing. "There he is. I told you he kinda looks like you."
When Chiun looked at Remo disdainfully, Remo added, "A little. Around the eyes."
"His eyes look Japanese," Chiun sniffed. "If my eyes resembled his eyes I would pluck them out of my head and crush them beneath my feet."
Remo sighed. "Anyway, he teaches this kid karate and the kid goes on to win a big karate tournament."
"How is that like us? We do not play games. We are assassins. I have trained you in the art of Sinanju, from which all the lesser fighting arts have been stolen, to be an assassin. I have turned your body into one of the finest instruments of human power imaginable. Normally I would have done as much for your mind, but you are white and my time on earth is not without limit."
"Thanks a lot," said Remo.
"You are quite welcome. I am glad now that I made the decision not to concentrate on your mind, for it is obviously confused. I ask you to explain your bizarre behavior and you have told me a lame story about this film. I am still waiting for a proper explanation."
"I was getting there."
"I am over eighty years along in life. Do not take too long."
"One of the things he tried to teach the kid to do is catch a fly with chopsticks. It's supposed to be the mark of a great karate master. The Japanese guy can't do it, even though he's been trying all his life, but the kid does it after a few lessons."