Warren Murphy: Waste Not, Want Not

Chiun's hazel eyes had always been much younger than his years. For a time there had been a growing weariness in them. Remo hadn't even noticed until the weariness was gone. It had disappeared four months before. Of late, there seemed a spark of renewed vigor in his teacher's eyes.

It was a thing Remo was not allowed to mention. During the Time of Succession, Remo and Chiun had been separated. While Remo was elsewhere in the world, Chiun had come back to Sinanju alone.

Something had happened to his teacher while they were apart. Something had restored the old man's fresh, youthful outlook. But whatever it was, Chiun was not yet ready to share. Remo had asked a few times.

"When I understand," was all Chiun would say, his voice mysterious. And that ended discussion on the subject.

Remo was understandably curious, but he respected his teacher's privacy. As the old man pruned the trees, Remo wondered again what had happened with Chiun. He had the distinct impression it was something big.

Chiun seemed to sense his pupil's unspoken thought.

Papery lips puckered as he worked his way around the far side of the pine. "How do you feel?" Chiun asked, preemptively changing the subject.

"Not sprouting any extra arms or eyes, if that's what you mean," Remo said. "I'm one hundred percent me."

"You say that like it is a good thing," Chiun said.

"From where I was four months ago, you better believe it is. Don't get me wrong. It was good those couple of days. You know, to see. That's still with me. But as for being something other than Remo Williams, not anymore."

Briefly during his Time of Succession ordeal, Remo had been given a glimpse of something larger than himself. For years Chiun had maintained that his pupil was the fulfillment of an ancient Sinanju prophecy. The old man claimed that Remo was the avatar of Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction. There had been moments in Remo's life that appeared to confirm this. Whenever some strange occurrence during their association arose to bolster Chiun's claim, Remo turned a blind eye. For years it was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla sitting in the corner of his life that he studiously ignored.

There was a reason why he chose to ignore it. In his secret heart, Remo was afraid. Afraid that if it were true, that if some ancient force dwelled within him, his own days as an individual were numbered. For if he was merely a vessel, Shiva was simply awaiting the day to spring forth and consume him utterly. And when that day finally came, the god would win and there would be no more of Remo Williams.

It was a fear he had lived with for as long as he had quietly believed the truth of Chiun's words. All that was different now. For a little while, Remo had seen what his future would be.

It was impossible to put into words. He had tried to explain it to Chiun several times. It was a feeling of... completeness like he had never before experienced. The world and everything in it-including Remo Williams-finally made sense. When Remo had told Chiun this last part, the old man strongly disputed the possibility that Remo could ever make sense. Remo had dropped the matter.

The god was gone and the man remained, but Remo no longer had the fear that he would be whisked into the ether, a forgotten soul, cast into eternal nothingness.

Reflecting on the experience, Remo felt another momentary shudder of peace. He watched quietly as Chiun stooped to collect the twigs he had trimmed from the trees.

"Kye Pun's here," Remo said all at once. "He heard back from the last Time of Succession country. The last body has been shipped and acknowledged. The new Reigning Master of the House of Sinanju has now been officially introduced to all the important courts of the world."

At this, Chiun only grunted.

There was a long moment during which neither man said a word. Chiun finished gathering his sticks. On shuffling feet, he carried them to the open mouth of the cave. As he laid them carefully inside, Remo finally broke the silence.

"I'm going back, Chiun," he announced all at once.

The old man turned slowly. His expression was unreadable. "How soon?"

"Soon. I haven't checked in with Upstairs in ages. Smitty's probably wondering if I'm dead again." A thought occurred. He turned from his teacher, cupping his hands to his mouth. "Hey, Pun!" he hollered in the direction of the village. "You nimrods get the phone working yet?"

Although he should have been too far away for anyone other than Chiun to hear him, his words carried easily across the village far below. Somehow the sound avoided the ears of the people, who were busily engaged in their daily business of hanging around doing nothing. Like a vocal dagger it landed only on the ears to which it was directed, those of the North Korean general, who was still using his hankie to polish rocks over on the bluff near the House of Many Woods.

Far, far on the other side of the village, Kye Pun scrambled to his feet. There was panic on his face. He twisted left and right, looking for ghosts.

"Over here, you doof!" Remo yelled.

Kye Pun's eyes were drawn to the source of the voice. Squinting, he saw the impossibly tiny speck of Remo standing way off in the distance, on the flat hill in the shadow of one of the Horns of Welcome. "The phone!" Remo yelled. "Is it working?"

Kye Pun took in a deep breath. "The work was completed this morning, Master!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

More than a few heads in the village turned his way. The villagers had no idea why the North Korean general was standing up on the bluff with a dripping hankie and shouting like a lunatic to himself.

Across the village, Remo turned to his teacher. "Phone works. I guess I can finally call Smitty."

"You need not have waited four months," Chiun said. "You could have phoned your emperor from Pyongyang."

With some sadness, Remo noted the "your" emperor.

"I don't like Pyongyang. Too many Pyongyangers for one thing. Plus I have it on good authority that a young man puts his virtue at risk just walking down the street there."

"And so you remained here," Chiun said. "Which I suppose means that you now like Sinanju?"

"Parts of it," Remo said. He looked around. Below, the morning sun was burning steam off the thatched roofs and mud streets. With the rising steam came the rising stink. "A part of it," he admitted. "Pretty much just the you part."

Chiun could feel the sympathetic waves emanating from his pupil. He turned his weathered face to Remo. "And so you thought to extend your time here. Why? To watch your poor old Master in his dotage? To mope around and stare me to an early grave? I told you before. I have a future."

Remo released months of frustration in an exhale of angry air.

"Of what?" he asked. "Really, Chiun. What? Pruning hedges? Taking care of Flossie over there?" He waved a hand at the homely little animal. "You're retired, Little Father. And I know the rules. First I become Reigning Master. At some point after that, I get a pupil of my own. As soon as I do that, the retired ex-Reigning Master is required by tradition to climb into that cave over there like Punxsatawney Phil, and we all pretend you're dead."

"That has been the tradition for many years," Chiun admitted, nodding agreement.

"Well, it's stupid. But you're this big stickler for tradition, so I know one morning I'm going to turn around and you're gonna be squirreled away in the back of that cave. I say screw it. You're better than a freaking hole in the ground. You're not ready for retirement."

Chiun considered his wards thoughtfully.

"No," the Korean said eventually, the light of wisdom dawning in his young eyes. "You are right."

Remo felt a tingle of hope in his chest.

"Yes, Remo, you are correct," Chiun insisted firmly. "I am ready for something else."