"Why that house, Chiun?" asked Remo who felt himself sinking into an endless pit of explanation and counter-explanation. "Why is that house so important to you?"
"I don't care about the house," Chiun said. "It is what one can do there. I have seen this maker of automobiles…"
"Ah, geez, Chiun."
"You go back on that explanation, too?"
Remo remained silent.
"I have seen this automobile maker beckon merely and I have seen Barbra Streisand come to this big ugly white house in electrical Washington. This I have seen. And I, I could stand in the glorious palaces of noble Sinanju and beckon until my fingers turn to dust and Barbra Streisand would not come."
"So, we're back to Barbra Streisand."
"Yes," said Chiun.
"Well, let's forget Barbra Streisand and let's forget the White House. I just want a plain house. To live in."
"It must be a perfect house," Chiun said. "To match you. Would a beauty wrap herself in rags?"
"All right. Enough," Remo said. "I've been graumed all day and now I've figured out what it is. I want to be like other people."
Chiun shook his head in sad bewilderment. "I have heard of the cat who would be king. But I never heard of a king who would be a cat. I have given you Sinanju, and now you want to be like other people? Like you were? Eating meat, sleeping the day away, groveling and miserable? This is what you want?"
"No, Chiun. I just want a house. Like yours in Sinanju," Remo lied, because he regarded Chiun's home in Sinanju as the ugliest thing ever built in the world.
"I understand," Chiun said. "It is good to have a beautiful house."
Remo nodded. He felt warmed and comforted by Chiun's understanding of his feelings.
"And someday we can invite Barbra Streisand to visit," Chiun said brightly.
"Right, right, right, right, right," said Remo in exasperation.
"Don't forget it," Chiun said. "Five rights do not allow a wrong. Heh, heh, heh."
The telephone rang an hour later, after Remo and Chiun had dined on rice and fish and Chiun had "done the dishes" by sailing the plates out the open window into the Boston night, where they produced seventeen unconfirmed U.F.O. sightings, and the formation of a new committee, the Boston League for Astronomical Truth whose first act was to print stationery so they could mail a fund-raising letter.
The caller was Smith.
"Hello, Doctor Smith," Remo said politely. "I'm so glad you called."
"Remo," Smith began, then checked himself. "Wait'a minute," he said. " 'Doctor Smith?' "
"That's right. The good, wise Doctor Smith," Remo said.
"Remo, what do you want?"
"No, sir, you first. After all, you called and you are my superior…"
"Everyone is," Chiun snickered.
"… you are my superior and I'd like to hear what's on your mind."
"Yes, well, remember I told you about the Mafia meeting in New York?"
"Of course, sir," Remo replied. He looked out at the sky and wondered why birds did not fly at night. Sure, they were busy going places in the daytime but didn't they ever have errands to run at night?
"Well, we've just learned that Arthur Grassione, the head Mafia hit man, and Salvatore Massello. the St. Louis head man, are on their way to Edgewood University outside St. Louis."
"Perhaps, sir." Remo said, "they've decided to mend their ways, to enroll as students, and live a new life." Remo counted seven sets of wing lights in the night-time sky. The sky was getting as crowded as the earth. Maybe birds only flew on off-hours.
"No, I don't think that's it," said Smith. "It cost us a man but we've learned they're on their wav to try to get some kind of new television invention. There's a professor there named William Wooley or Wooley Westhead or something like that."
Terrific, Remo thought. I want a house and Smith wants to talk about Wooley-headed college professors. He said, "I understand."
"Massello is a new kind of Mafia don," Smith said. "He's bright and subtle and chances are he's going to be the next national boss. Now if you can do something to stop him…"
"Certainly," Remo said. "Are you done, sir? Is that all?"
"Yes," Smith said warily.
"I want a frigging house," Remo yelled. "I'm tired of living in these frigging hotels. I want a house. If you don't give me a house, I'm quitting. Well?"
"If I give you a house will you promise always to be polite?" Smith asked.
"No."
"Will you promise to always carry out missions faithfully and without questioning my orders?"
"Of course not. Most of the time your orders are so stupid they're painful."
"If I give you a house, do you promise to take care of Massello and Grassione? And find out what they're after?"
"I might," Remo said.
"Do it first and then we'll talk about the house," Smith said.
"Will we talk about it yes or will we talk about it no?" Remo asked.
"We'll talk about it maybe," Smith said.
"Then maybe I'll take care of Grassello and Massione," Remo said.
"Massello and Grassione," Smith said. "Come on, Remo, this is important."
"So's my house," said Remo.