The little boy giggled. All the children of the village laughed with him, but the adults looked mortified.
No one was going to say the obvious to Remo. Who would want to watch himself performing a bodily function? They all thought that, but to voice it to a Master of Sinanju, even if he was a white American with a big nose and unnaturally round eyes, would be disrespectful.
Out of the corner of his eye Remo, saw the door to the treasure house of Sinanju open a crack. Remo's head swiveled, and Chiun's eyes locked with his. Satisfied that Remo's senses were focused on the dwelling of the Master of Sinanju, who was ignoring him, Chiun slammed the door.
Remo muttered under his breath. He had looked. And Chiun saw him look. Had he not looked, everything would have been fine. But not now. Now Remo could no longer pretend that there wasn't a problem.
Remo excused himself from dinner, squeezed Mah-Li's hand, and made for the treasure house.
"Might as well get this over with," he said to himself. The door was locked, forcing Remo to knock.
"Who knocks?" demanded Chiun in a querulous voice.
"You know damn well who knocks," Remo snapped back. "You didn't hear me come up the path?"
"I heard an elephant. Is there an elephant with you?"
"No, there's no goddamn elephant with me."
The door shot open.
Chiun's beaming face stared back at Remo's.
"I thought not. An elephant makes less noise than you."
"Can I come in?" Remo asked, controlling himself with an effort.
"Why not? It is your house too." And Chiun moved back into the taper-lit interior.
Remo looked around. The heaps of treasure which occupied every room had been moved about. There were Grecian busts, Chinese statues, jars of precious gems, and gold in all its forms, from ingot to urn. "Redecorating?" asked Remo as Chiun settled into the low throne which sat in the center of the main room.
"I was taking count."
"I never noticed these before," Remo said, walking to a group of ornate panels stacked against one wall.
"They are nothing," said Chiun disdainfully. "Too recent."
"I read about these," Remo went on. "These panels are known as the Room of Gold. They're some kind of European treasure. I remember reading an article about them once. They're a national treasure of Czechoslovakia or Hungary or some place like that. They've been missing since the war."
"They have not," Chiun corrected. "They have been here."
"The Europeans don't know that. They think the Nazis took them."
"They did."
"Then what are you doing with them?"
"The Nazis were good at taking things that were not theirs. They were not good at keeping them. Ask any European."
"I will, if any drop in for tea."
"Do you miss America, Remo?" Chiun asked suddenly.
"America is where I was born. Sure, sometimes I miss it. But I'm happy here. Really, Little Father." Chiun nodded, his hazel eyes bright.
"Our ways are strange to you, even though now you, too, are a Master of Sinanju."
"You will always be the Master in my eyes, Little Father."
"A good answer," said Chiun. "And well spoken."
"Thank you," said Remo, hoping it would head off another one of Chiun's endless complaints about the frail state of his health in these, the ending days of his life.
"But I, being frail and in my ending days, will not always be the Master of this village," said Chiun. "You are the next Master. This we have agreed to."
"I hope that day is far off," said Remo sincerely.
"Not long ago it seemed that you would take my place much sooner."
Remo nodded, surprised that Chiun would bring up that subject himself. Remo was convinced Chiun's recent illness had been an elaborate con game designed to get them out of America. His miraculous recovery was suspicious, but Remo had not pressed the issue. He was too happy now that he had found Mah-Li. If it was one of Chiun's guilt trips that had brought that about, Remo reasoned, well, why not? Some people met through classified ads.
"We are both still young, you and I," said Chiun. "But I have suffered much in America, working for Mad Harold, the non-emperor. Too long have I breathed the foul, dirty air of your birthplace. It has robbed me of some of my years, but I have a good many years left. Decades. Many decades."
"I am glad," said Remo, wondering where this was leading.
"Even though you are soon to wed, which is the next important step toward assuming responsibility for my village, we must observe succession."
"Of course."
"You must learn to live as a Korean."
"I'm trying. I think the villagers like me now."
"Do not rush them, Remo," Chiun said suddenly.
"Little Father?"
"Do not force yourself upon them. In their eyes, you are strange, different."
"I'm just trying to get along," Remo said.
"You are to be commended for that. But if you truly wish to get along, you must do so according to rank."
"Rank?" asked Remo. "What rank? Everybody's a peasant. Except you, of course."
Chiun raised a long-nailed finger. It caught the mellow candlelight like a polished blade of bone. It looked delicate, but Remo had seen it slice through sheet metal.