Warren Murphy: Return Engagement

"I am glad," said Remo, wondering where this was leading.

"Even though you are soon to wed, which is the next important step toward assuming responsibility for my village, we must observe succession."

"Of course."

"You must learn to live as a Korean."

"I'm trying. I think the villagers like me now."

"Do not rush them, Remo," Chiun said suddenly.

"Little Father?"

"Do not force yourself upon them. In their eyes, you are strange, different."

"I'm just trying to get along," Remo said.

"You are to be commended for that. But if you truly wish to get along, you must do so according to rank."

"Rank?" asked Remo. "What rank? Everybody's a peasant. Except you, of course."

Chiun raised a long-nailed finger. It caught the mellow candlelight like a polished blade of bone. It looked delicate, but Remo had seen it slice through sheet metal.

"Exactly," said Chiun.

"I don't get it."

"If you desire to get along, your first priority should be to get along with me."

"Meaning?"

"Throw off the last of your American whiteness. In your former life, you were a caterpillar, a lowly green caterpillar."

"I thought you said I was white."

"You are."

"Which is it, white or green?"

"Honestly, Remo," Chum said. "You are so literal-minded. I was speaking in images. You are white, but you are like the green caterpillar. And I am asking you to emerge from the cocoon of your whiteness. In the fullness of time, you will emerge as a butterfly."

"What color?" Remo asked.

"Why, yellow, of course. Like me."

"You?"

"Yes, me."

"I never thought of you as a butterfly before."

"How could you? Caterpillars do not think. Heh-heh. They do not think, but instead squirm in the mud wishing to be butterflies. Heh-heh."

"You're unhappy that the villagers are paying so much attention to me, is that it?" Remo asked.

"Of course not," said Chiun. "I merely ask that you do not fraternize with them excessively. You are a Master of Sinanju. They are the villagers. They must look up to you. They cannot look up to you if you are squatting in the dirt with them every night, eating the same food, sharing in their peasant jokes."

"The communal meals were your idea, Little Father. Don't you remember? You wanted the village to be one happy family."

"It has gone on too long. You are too happy. It is not good to be too happy."

"I could be a lot happier," said Remo.

"Name the thing that will increase your happiness, Remo, for your happiness is mine."

"Let's cut this engagement period down to something reasonable."

"Such as?"

"One week."

"It is too late for that," said Chiun sternly.

"Why?"

"You have already been engaged for eight weeks. Even a Master of Sinanju cannot roll back time."

"I meant one more week. I don't see why I can't marry Mah-Li sooner."

"Tradition forbids it," said Chiun. "A Master of Sinanju marries for life. He must marry wisely. You must get to know Mah-Li better."

"A nine-month engagement is too much. I respect your wishes, but it is too much."

"As a matter of fact. Remo, I have been reconsidering the formal engagement period."

"Oh?"

"I have been thinking that five years is more appropriate. "

"Five-!"

Chiun waved Remo's outburst aside. "I said reconsidering. I have not made up my mind. I will keep your request in mind as I give this matter more thought."

Remo relaxed. "When will you let me know?" he asked.

"Two, perhaps three years."

"Chiun!"

"Hush, Remo. Do not shout. It is unseemly. What if the villagers hear us quarreling?"

"No chance. Not even an air-raid siren could pierce through these tapestries and stacks of gold."

"You cannot marry too soon. It would be wrong."

"I've been asking around. The normal engagement period is only three months."

"That is for Koreans," reminded Chiun. "You are not a true Korean."

"I will never be a Korean. You know that."

"We will work on that. Put yourself in my hands, Remo."

"And another thing, what about the village?"

"What about it?"

"I have some ideas that will make it better," said Remo, taking a piece of paper from his trouser pocket. Remo looked it over.

"Better than what?" asked Chiun, genuinely puzzled. "This is Sinanju. It is the center of the universe. What could make it better?"

"Running water, for one thing."

"We are by the ocean. We have all the water we need. "

"Not to drink," said Remo.

"Sinanju is blessed with the sweetest rain," Chiun said, making fluttering motions with his fingernails. "You have only to set out your pots to collect your fill."

"I was thinking about putting in toilets."

Chiun made a disgusted face. "Toilets are a European confidence trick. They promote sloth and laziness."

"How so?"

"They are too comfortable. They are indoors, where it is warm. This encourages people to sit on them too long, reading mindless magazines, ruining their minds and posture."

"There isn't even a decent outhouse in the entire village. Everybody uses chamber pots or goes behind a rock. After a big feast, the air is unbreathable."

"It is the natural way. Fertilizer. It helps the crops."

"The only crops in Sinanju are mud and rocks," Remo said flatly. "The people are so lazy even the rice has to be trucked in."

"Do not insult my people, Remo," Chiun warned.

"What's insulting about good hygiene? I know you have a toilet in this house," Remo pointed out.

"This house was built by the finest Egyptian architects," Chiun said loftily, "back when Egyptians were good for something more than losing wars and dusting the ruins of their ancestors. It contains many curiosities. Somewhere in it there is a European water closet, I am sure. An antique."

"I hear it flush from time to time."

"It is necessary to keep even antiques in proper working order," Chiun sniffed.

"Chiun, you've got tons of gold just sitting here doing nothing and your people are living like . . . like . . ."

"Like Koreans," supplied Chiun.

"Exactly."

"I am glad we understand one another."

"No, we don't," Remo said. "If I'm going to live here the rest of my life, I want to do something constructive. These people don't need more gold or more security. They need a better standard of living."

"The people of Sinanju have food," said Chiun slowly. "They have family. they have protection. Even Americans have not that. Americans are subject to all manner of brutality from other Americans. In Sinanju, as long as there is a Master of Siilanju, no one need fear theft."

"That's because no one has anything worth stealing."

"They have me. I am their wealth. They have the protection of the awesome magnificence that is Chiun, reigning Master of Sinanju. They know that. They appreciate that. They love me."

Just then there was a knock on the door. "Enter, beloved subject," said Chiun loudly. Pullyang, the caretaker, scuttled into the room. He came to Remo's side and whispered into his ear. He took no notice of Chiun.

"Three," said Relno.

Pullyang doubled over with laughter. He ran out into the night. Rcmo heard him repeat his answer over and over. Other laughter welled up into the night.

"He didn't wait for the punch line," said Remo. "That wasn't even the funny part."

"What did Pullyang ask of you?" demanded Chiun.

"He wanted to know how many Pyongyangers it takes to change a light bulb."

"That was my joke!" Chinn hissed. And with a furious swirl of sleeves and skirts he leapt to his feet and bounded to the door.

"It takes three Pyongyangers to change a light bulb," Chiun shouted into the night. "One to change the bulb and two to shout encouragement while he does this!" The laughter died abruptly.