"I understand," said Jilda. "There is only a one-in-three chance that Remo took the correct road."
"No," said Chiun, whispering encouragement to a waking villager. "The chance is none in three. The Dutchman took the shore road."
"Then why did you send Remo along the East Road?"
"Because I have spent two decades training him and do not wish to lose him foolishly."
"He will know he has been tricked."
"Remo is used to being tricked. If his mind were as strong as his body, he would be the greatest Master Sinanju has ever known."
"None of us are safe as long as the Dutchman lives."
"I do not claim to have achieved a solution to this problem," Chiun said, shooing the last of his villagers away. "Only that I have postponed one tragic result."
The three stood alone in the silent village square. The only light came from the moon. Chiun took in a deep breath of sea air. It was cold and bitter.
When Remo returned, his shoulders sloped dejectedly. "He got away," he said.
"Is that a bad thing?" asked Chiun.
"We gotta get him. Now. Today. This can't go on. We can't have him hanging over our lives like this."
"I think it is not my life he hangs over," said Chiun. "I think it is yours. And are you so eager to end your life that you will pursue your inevitable mutual destruction with this man? "
"If we're going to die because of one another, I'd rather get it over with," Remo said seriously.
"How white," Chiun remarked nastily. "Oh, it is too much of a burden to wait and plan a solution to my problem. I would rather commit suicide than live in such uncertainty."
"It's not that way, Chiun, and you know it."
"Oh? Then how is it, Remo? You cannot kill this man. Let him go lick his wounds. You are stronger than he is. He knows that now. Perhaps he will never return."
"You're forgetting that he killed Mah-Li."
"And you are forgetting that beside you stand your child and the woman who bore her."
"That's exactly why I have to take care of the Dutchman," Remo said. "Don't you see that? They're not safe as long as he's alive. He won't stop until he's murdered everyone in my life. I'm going after him. Are you going to tell me which way he went-or am I going to have to waste a lot of precious time?"
"Very well," Chiun said, drawing himself up proudly. "He took the shore road."
"See you later, then."
"If that is your wish. You will miss the funeral. But it does not matter. A person so bent on self-destruction that he would leave without saying good-bye to his only child and the child's mother is obviously above pausing to pay his respects to the woman he almost married. The woman he claims to have loved."
Remo stopped in his tracks. He did not turn around. "Postpone the funeral," he said.
"Sinanju law. Burial must be on the evening of the passing of the villager. I cannot bend Sinanju law, not even for you. But go. I will tell the villagers that you would not attend the funeral because you did not truly love her. I have been saying it for months, and now you are proving it to me."
Remo turned to face the Master of Sinanju. The resolve vanished from his face. "You always have an answer, don't you, Chiun?"
"No," said Chiun, turning his back on Remo. "It is you who always have a problem. But I like that in you. It makes life so interesting. Now, let us bury our dead."
Chapter 30
Cold moonlight washed the funeral of the maiden Mah-Li like an astringent solution.
The funeral procession began in front of the House of the Masters. The entire village wore white, the traditional Korean color of mourning. Villagers carried the rosewood coffin on a palanquin. Remo and Chiun walked just ahead of the litter, the remaining villagers trailing behind, carrying incense burners and making no more noise than the sea mists rolling off the bay.
Jilda walked in the rear, her arms bandaged, Freya beside her.
The procession followed the shore road to the plum-tree-shaded burial ground of the village of Sinanju. Every Sinanju villager was entitled to a mound of dirt in the burial plot, with a small stone or pillar to mark his or her life.
The palanquin was set on the ground beside an open hole. After a moment of silence in which the villagers were allowed a final view of the face of the deceased, the coffin was closed.
The Master of Sinanju watched his pupil, Remo Williams, as the lid closed on the face of his beloved for the final time. There was no expression on his face. No shock, no grief, no nothing. Chiun's parchment countenance frowned.
Chiun stepped before the villagers.
"Think not that Mah-Li is dead," he said, looking squarely at Remo. "She was a flower whose perfume has made our lives sweeter, but all flowers wither. Some with age, some by disease, and others by cruel acts. So it was here. But let this be said of Mah-Li, if nothing else. That she was a flower who left us while her perfume was still fragrant in our nostrils, and our last sight of her face gave us the pleasure of her smooth skin and her innocent nature. No one will remember this child as stooped or wrinkled or infirm. I decree that future generations, when they speak of Mah-Li, will know her as Mah-Li the Flower." Chiun paused.
The villagers wept silently. Only Remo stood unmoved. "Before we let the maiden Mah-Li settle into her final rest, I will ask her beloved, my adopted son, Remo, to speak of her memory."
Remo stepped forward like a robot. He looked down at the coffin.
"A year ago I took a vow to protect this village and everyone in it," Remo said. "My vow to you today is that the man who did this will pay dearly. No matter what it costs me." And Remo stepped back.
Chiun, unsettled by the raw edge in Remo's voice, signaled for the coffin to be lowered into the ground. Shovels began cutting into the mound of loose dirt beside the hole, and with dull, final sounds, clods of barren earth fell upon the coffin.
The people of Sinanju stood respectfully as the coffin was covered. Except Remo Williams. Without a word, he stormed off.
Chiun lowered his head sadly. Tonight, he thought, felt like the end of so many things.
Remo took the shore road, the wind whipping the loose cotton of his white funeral costume. He had no destination in mind. He was just walking.
He came to the house he had built with his own hands and never finished. The doorway gaped cavernously like the eye of a skull. There was a hole in one wall, where the Dutchman had hurled him, and no roof. It was the final touch he had not gotten around to.
Remo stepped inside. The interior was a single square room filled with starlight so bright Remo could see the hairs on the back of his hand clearly. He squatted in the middle of the room and lifted his face to the sky. It was brilliant with stars. They lay in wreaths and pools, like diamonds awash in celestial milk. In all his years in America, Remo had never seen such a beautiful night sky. Its haunting glory made him want to cry. But he knew that if he shed tears now, they would not be in tribute to the beauty of creation, but over the waste of earthy dreams.
The Master of Sinanju appeared in the doorway. He said nothing. Remo did not acknowledge his presence, although both men knew that each was aware of the other.
Finally Chiun spoke.
"It is customary to speak of the cherished memory of a loved one at a funeral, not to voice vengeance."
If Chiun expected an answer, he was disappointed. Remo continued to ignore him.