Sheryl put her head next to Chiun's. She examined the paper.
"You must be reading it wrong," she said. "You can't hardly film a sitcom in that time."
"Are you conversant with Japanese writing?"
"Well, no," Sheryl admitted.
"I speak and read it fluently, and this stipulates that they will take Yuma in five shooting days."
"Take?"
"I am giving the literal translation. Is 'take' a movie term?"
"Yes. But a take is a good scene. One they'll use. I can't imagine what they could mean by taking Yuma. I know they'll be filming in the city later on, but that can't be it."
"I will gladly listen to your translation," Chiun told her coolly.
"Don't be silly. Someone just made a mistake. This is a four-week production."
"They have rice for nearly six months."
"Says who?"
"Says I. Just now." Chiun tapped another rice-paper strip. "According to this, they have rice for six months. Twice the amount they believe they will require."
"Well, there you go. The other thing must be wrong, then. They wouldn't have a six-month supply of rice for a five-day shoot, now, would they?"
"They would not have such a supply of rice for a four-month shooting schedule either," Chiun said slowly. "Why do they call it a shooting schedule?"
"You've heard of shooting a picture?"
"I have heard of taking a picture. Is that the 'take' they meant?"
"No. When they film, they call it shooting a movie. Therefore, shooting schedule. Wait a minute. You should know that! You're a film correspondent."
"I know it now," Chiun said, turning abruptly. "I would like to see their rice supply."
"Why, for Pete's sake?"
Before the Master of Sinanju could reply, a Japanese crewman leapt into the trailer.
"What you do here?" he barked. "Off rimits!"
"Oh, we were just looking for Jiro," Sheryl said.
"Off rimits!" the Japanese repeated spitefully.
"I don't think he speaks English," Sheryl whispered.
"Allow me to answer this," Chiun said. He lapsed into guttural Japanese. The other man's face quirked in astonishment. He grabbed for the Master of Sinanju. Chiun sidestepped the thrust. The Japanese kept going. He fell on his face. He bounced to his feet and made another move toward the tiny Korean.
"You cut this out, both of you!" Sheryl said, getting between the two of them. "This here's Mr. Chiun. He's with Star File magazine. You behave yourself "
The Japanese pushed her aside roughly and lunged at Chiun.
Smiling, Chiun spoke a simple, pungent word in Japanese. "Yogore." His opponent howled and lunged. The Japanese went sailing past him, his feet tripping on the RV's steps. They scrambled for footing, but to no avail. He fell facedown into the gritty sand.
Calmly the Master of Sinanju walked down his legs, over his back, and stepped off his head to alight on the sand. He turned.
"Why do you loiter?" he asked Sheryl. "He will be awake soon."
Sheryl looked around. There was no one in sight. "I'm with you," she said as she stepped over the man. As they slipped to the cluster of tents, Sheryl said in a tight voice, "You know, sometimes the atmosphere around here is so tense you can break off pieces and chew them instead of gum. If this is how these folks make movies, God help us if they ever take over our movie companies. I, for one, will be looking for a new line of work, thank you."
The food-provision tent faced the busy food-service truck. Chiun and Sheryl ducked behind it.
"How are we going to get in?" Sheryl asked, feeling the coarse fabric.
"You will stand guard?"
"Sure as shootin'."
After Sheryl had turned her head, the Master of Sinanju plunged a fingernail into the cloth and slashed downward so swiftly the rip sound was compressed into a rude bark. He masked it by feigning a cough.
"What's the matter, poor thing?" Sheryl asked. "Inhale some sand?"
"Behold," Chiun said, pointing to the cloth. At first Sheryl couldn't see what he was talking about, but when Chiun touched the fabric, a vertical slit appeared as if by magic.
"Well, how about that?" she said. "Must be our lucky day. "
For the long tear exactly followed the line where a white stripe joined an orange one. Chiun held the tent open for her.
"Must be a defect in the workmanship," Sheryl said when Chiun joined her inside the cool tent.
" 'Workmanship' is not in the Japanese vocabulary," Chiun sniffed. He walked around the tent. It was crammed with burlap sacks. lie touched one, and felt the hard-packed rice grains give like gravel.
"There is enough rice here to maintain many men for many months," he said gravely.
"There you go. What'd I tell you?"
"More than four weeks' supply. More than four months. Depending on the numbers of persons involved, perhaps nearly six months."
"So, they're prepared. Like the Boy Scouts. Films do run beyond their shooting schedules."
"It is not good that Bronzini leads them."
"Why not?"