"Because Azteca Airlines is too poor to afford the fuel since NAFTA was passed."
"We will pay no tax," insisted Chiun.
"I'll get it," Remo said. "Anything to get going."
"This is taxation without reservations," Chiun sniffed.
"Actually the slogan is Taxation Without Representation, but I like your version better."
"Senor Ross Perot was correct," said the stewardess after Remo dropped two twenties in the basket. "If jou gringos had voted for that giant of a man, Mexico would today be a First World country."
"Yeah, and General Alzheimer would have been vice president."
"It is preferable to that stick of wood who cannot dance."
The plane was in the air within thirty minutes. During that time, a meal was served.
"I can't eat this," said Remo, pointing to the plastic tray loaded with refried beans in a spicy tomato sauce.
"Good. I will eat it, then," said the stewardess, taking back the meal and disappearing into the galley.
When she returned, Remo asked her for rice.
"We have no rice. Only corn."
"What kind of airline doesn't serve rice?"
"A Mexican one," said the stewardess, continuing her rounds.
"Guess I go hungry a while longer," said Remo, who would have settled for corn, but was forbidden to eat it by the Master of Sinanju, who claimed it would turn the whites of Remo's eyes yellow.
"We are going to be late," Chiun said, his tone accusing.
"So what?" said Remo. "Verapaz can wait."
A woman passenger immediately behind them leaned forward. "Did jou say 'Verapaz,' senor?"
"No," said Remo.
"Possibly," said Chiun. "What do you know of him?"
The woman clapped her hand to her ample bosom. "He is the handsomest man in all of Mexico."
A notch formed between Remo's dark eyes.
"How do you know that? He wears a ski mask all the time."
"His eyes are handsome. Therefore, his face must be handsome. It is logical, no?"
"It is logical, definitely no," said Remo.
"They say he has green eyes," a woman across the aisle said. "I adore green eyes."
"It is said he is a defrocked Jesuit priest who has taken up arms to liberate his country," the stewardess offered.
"He is a comunista!" a man snarled.
"No, he is a pure-blooded Maya who was educated in the states," another man affirmed. "God has blessed this man."
"In other words," Remo said, "none of you know a thing."
"In Mexico," the stewardess said sternly, "the truth is what jou believe because the reality of life is so terrible."
"Tell that to the Kurds," Remo said.
The captain came on the intercom to announce that they were within thirty minutes of their destination. "That is, if the NAFTA tax is paid in full," he added.
"Another tax!" Chiun squeaked.
"It is necessary," the stewardess assured him. "Since NAFTA, Mexico has been impoverished."
"I thought you people were all for NAFTA," said Remo.
"We wanted the good that came from NAFTA. Not the bad things."
"Tough. You bought in. You draw the bad with the good."
"There is no good. We were tricked by our leaders. Your leaders, as well."
"This is taxation without restriction," Chiun said. "We will pay no more taxes."
"That goes double for me," Remo said.
"In that case, we will circle Mexico City until we run out of fuel, or crash," warned the stewardess.
"You wouldn't do that in a million years."
"Sometimes death is preferable to life. It is true for Mexicans ever since the calamity."
"The earthquake?"
"No. NAFTA. Our souls are strong, and we will endure countless earthquakes. Earthquakes can only break our bodies. But NAFTA has crushed our proud Mexican spirits. We have no future because our money is worth nothing now."
"How does that give you the right to hold up Americans every chance you get?"
"Norteamericanos are feelthy rich."