"Very well, since you will not ask, I will answer anyway."
And Remo leaned against the chimney and folded his arms. Might as well listen.
"You have been acting strangely all week," Chiun pointed out.
"I've been thinking a lot lately," Remo returned.
"As I said, strangely. For you, to think is strange, possibly weird. This is how I noticed. Then you disappear without telling me."
"Can't I just go for a walk?"
"You took a bus."
"I got tired of walking. So what? And how did you know I took a bus? Smith's computers tell you that?"
"No, I knew you would be going. And Smith's secretary told me you did not have her call for a taxicab. You are too lazy to walk far, therefore you took the bus." Chiun smiled placidly.
"Okay, I took the bus. Big deal. But I don't believe for a moment you knew I was going to leave. It was a sudden impulse."
"It has been building up inside you for six days, no more, no less."
"Six days?" Remo said vaguely. "Let's see, today is Friday." He began counting backward on his fingers. He went through his left hand, and then ticked off his second thumb and called it Sunday. Remo's frowning expression burst into surprise. "Hey! That's right. I started feeling this way last Sunday."
"Precisely," Chiun said.
"Okay, Sherlock. If you have it down to a science, what's bothering me? I hadn't exactly sorted it out myself."
"It is many things. A yearning for home is paramount. I sensed that. from the start. That is why I knew you would come here, to Newark. You have known no other place in your sorry existence."
"It hasn't been so bad."
"Have you visited with Sister Mary Margaret yet?"
"Now, how did you know I was even thinking of her?"
"Before me, you had no one. But Sister Mary Margaret raised you."
"All the nuns raised me."
"But she is the only one you ever speak about."
"Well," Remo said, "I haven't seen her. I don't even know where to find her, or even if she's still alive. The orphanage is long gone."
"Your past is long gone, but I understand your yearnings. Sometimes I miss the village of my youth, the pearl of the Orient called Sinanju."
"How anyone could miss that mud hole is beyond me."
Chiun looked around him disdainfully.
"I could say the same of your sordid environment."
"Touche," Remo said. "But you haven't finished. What am I doing here?"
"You wish a place you can call your own. You thought that place was to be found in your past. But having come here, you now understand that you have outgrown this place."
"Fine. I admit it. Just to avoid prolonging this conversation. There's nothing back here for me. Not even Sister Mary Margaret. Besides, she never visited me once on Death Row."
"And it still hurts."
Remo looked away quickly. "She probably figured I was guilty, like everyone else. Or maybe she didn't know."
"After all these years, it still haunts you. That you might have disappointed her."
"Not me."
"No, not you. Never you. For as long as I've known you, you deny your deepest feelings."
"Something's missing from my life, Chiun. I really feel it now that I've seen Newark again."
"Yes, Remo. Something is missing. And I know what it is."
"What?"
"Me."
"No, I don't mean you." Chiun's face shrank.
"Don't take it personally," Remo said dryly. "But I did live a few years before Smith put you to training me."
"An unimportant prelude to your existence," Chiun said dismissively. "Banish those years from your mind."
"I feel empty, Chiun."
"You are filled with the sun source. You are the first white man so blessed. Although it was a long struggle, with you fighting me every step along the path, I have made you whole. I have made you Sinanju."
"Empty," Remo repeated. "See that?"
Chiun looked. His clear hazel eyes narrowed questioningly.
"That spire?" he demanded.
"Yeah. I used to go to church there."
"So?"
"I haven't been to church in a long time," Remo said wistfully. "Maybe I should go."