Warren Murphy: Return Engagement

And now Remo had finally come home-to Sinanju on the West Korea Bay.

An aged Oriental in a subdued blue kimono strolled up the shore path and watched at a slight distance Remo's attempt to lay hardwood planks on top of the floor frame. He was tiny, and the fresh sea breeze played with the tufts of hair over each ear and teased his wispy beard.

At length, the Master of Sinanju approached. "What are you doing, my son?"

Remo glanced back over his shoulder, then returned to his task.

"I'm building a house, Little Father."

"I can see that, Remo. Why are you building a house?"

"It's for Mah-Li," Remo said.

"Ah," said Chiun, current Master of Sinanju-the town as well as the discipline. "A wedding present, then?"

"You got it. Hand me that plank, will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Will you hand me that plank?"

"Will I hand you that plank what?"

"Huh?"

"It is customary to say 'please' when one requests a boon from the Master of Sinanju," Chiun said blandly.

"Never mind," Remo said impatiently. "I'll get it myself."

Remo hefted the plank into place. The floor was forming, and next would come the walls, but the hard part would be the roof. As a kid, Remo had never been good in woodworking class, but he had picked up the basics. But as far as he knew, no American high school had ever taught classes in thatching. Perhaps Chiun could help him with the roof.

"Mah-Li already has a house," remarked Chiun after a short silence.

"It's too far from the viilage," Remo said. "She's not an outcast from the village anymore. She's the future wife of the next Master of Sinanju."

"Do not get ahead of yourself. I am the current Master. While I am Master, there is no other. Why not build Mah-Li's new house closer to mine?"

"Privacy," said Remo, looking down the hollowed tube of a bamboo shoot. He set several of these on end, in a row, and chopped off the tops with quick motions of his hands until they stood uniform in length.

"Will that not be hard on her, Remo?"

"How so?" Remo said. He split the first shoot down the middle with a vicious crack. The halves fell into his hands, perfectly split.

"She will have far to walk to wake you in the morning." Remo's hand poised in mid-chop.

"What are you talking about?"

"You are not even married yet and you are already treating your future bride disgracefully."

"How is building her a house disgraceful?"

"It is not the house. It is where the house is not."

"Where should it be?"

"Next to the house of my ancestors."

"Oh," said Remo, suddenly understanding. "Let us sit, Little Father."

"A good thought," said Chiun, settling on a rock. Remo sat at his feet, the feet of the only father he had ever known. He folded his hands over his bent knees.

"You are unhappy that I'm not building closer to you, is that it?" Remo asked.

"There is plenty of space on the eastern side."

"If you call twelve square feet spacious."

"In Sinanju, we do not dwell in our homes for hours on end, as you did in your former life in America." Remo looked out past the rock formation known as the Horns of Welcome, past the cold gray waters of the West Korea Bay. Somewhere beyond the horizon was America and the life he used to live. It was still all so fresh in his mind, but he shut away the memories. Sinanju was home now.

"A home on the eastern side would cut off your sunlight," Remo pointed out. "I know you like the sun coming through your window in the morning. I would not deprive you of that for my own pleasure.

Chiun nodded, the white wisps of beard floating about his chin. His hazel eyes shone with pleasant approval of his pupil's consideration.

"This is gracious of you. Remo."

"Thank you."

"But you must think of your future bride. On cold mornings, she would have to walk all the way from this place to your bedside."

"Little Father?" Remo said slowly, trying to pick the best words to phrase what he had to say.

"Yes?"

"Her bedside will be my bedside. We will be married, remember?"

"True," said Chiun, raising a long-nailed finger. "And this is my point exactly. She should be at your side."

"Right," said Remo, relieved.

"Right," said Chiun, thinking that Remo was getting the point at last. Sometimes he could be so slow. Residual whiteness. It would never go away entirely, but in a few decades Remo would be more like a Korean than he was now. Especially if he got more sun.

"So what's the problem?" Remo asked.

"This house. You do not need it." Remo frowned.

Chiun frowned back. Perhaps Remo had not gotten the point after all.

"Let me explain it to you," the Master of Sinanju said. "Mah-Li's place is at your side, correct?"

"That's right."

"Good. You had said so yourself. And your place is at my side, correct?"

"You are the Master of Sinanju. I am your pupil." Chiun rose to his feet and clapped his hands happily.

"Excellent! Then it is settled."

"What is settled?" Remo asked, getting up.

"Mah-Li will move in with us after the marriage. Come, I will help you take this unnecessary structure apart. "

"Wait a minute, Little Father. I never agreed to that. "

Chiun looked at Remo with astonishment wrinkling his parchrnent visage.

"What? You do not want Mah-Li? Beautiful Mah-Li, kind Mah-Li, who has graciously consented to overlook your unfortunate whiteness, your rnongrel birth, and accept you as her husband, and you do not want her to live with you upon your marriage? Is this some American custom you have never shared with me, Remo?"

"That isn't it, Little Father."

"No?"

"I wasn't planning on Mah-Li moving in with us."

"Then?"

"I was planning on moving in with her."

"Moving in?" Chiun squeaked. "As in moving out? Out of the house of my ancestors?" Chiun's many wrinkles smoothed in shock.

"I never thought of doing it any other way," Remo confessed.

"And I never thought you would dream of doing it any other wav than the way of Sinanju," Chiun snapped.

"I thought you'd want your privacy. I thought you'd understand."

"In Korea, families stick together," Chiun scolded. "In Korea, families do not break apart with marriage as they do in America. In America, families marry off their young and live many miles apart. In their apartness, they grow cool and lose their family bonds. It is no wonder that in America families fight over inheritances and murder other family members out of spite. American whites are bred to be strangers to one another. It is a disgrace. It is shameful."

"I'm sorry, Little Father. Mah-Li and I talked it over. This is the way it is with us."

"No, this is the way it is in the unfriendly land of your misbegotten birth. I have watched your television. I have seen Edge of Darkness, As the Planet Revolves." I know how it is. It will start with separate homes and escalate into contesting my will. I will have none of it!"

And saying no more, the Master of Sinanju turned on his heel with a flourish of skirts and sulked up the shore road back to the center of the village of Sinanju, nursing a deep hurt in his magnificent heart.

Remo said "Damn" to himself in a small voice and went back to building. He sliced dozens of long bamboo shoots with fingernails that had been made hard by diet and exercise, until he had enough to make the siding for his new home.

Remo had never dreamed that he would feel so miserable when he finally had a home to call his own.

It was near dusk when Remo finished the sides. The scent of smoking wood wafting from the village told him the cooking fires were going. The clean scent of boiling rice came to his nostrils, so sensitized by years of training that to him the aroma was as pungent as curry on the tongue. His mouth watered.