Warren Murphy: The Last Alchemist

"Away."

"All right. I'm going. But I think you're nuts."

"The swan always looks awkward to the worm," said Chiun.

"That's insulting," said Consuelo.

"We at last can communicate, I see," said Chiun. When Consuelo returned she saw Chiun sitting beside the bed. She could not believe what she was hearing. Here was this close friend, the one Remo had called little father, sitting on the bed hectoring Remo's corpse. "Well, now we see. I am not one to say I told you so. But it is so. Your pride has brought you here. Your arrogance has brought you here. And why? All you had to do was listen. Listen with some respect to the House of Sinanju that has given you so much, loved you so much. But what do you do?"

Chiun paused, drawing himself up to gather more fully the greatness of the indignity he had suffered. "Do I mind that you continued to serve the insane emperor, although truly honored positions are available in the world? No. Do I mind that when all I wanted was a little respect, that was the last thing you would give? No. Do I mind that daily, I suffered humiliations from your neglect of Sinanju? . . ."

Chiun paused a moment and thought.

"Yes, I minded it all. And here you are because of it all. How justice has finally come upon you! I told you so and you deserve it."

"How can you? That's sick," screamed Consuelo.

"And that harlot you took up with. A good Korean girl wasn't good enough for you . . ."

"Is that what you dismissed the doctor for? To lecture the body?"

Chiun cast a disdainful eye upon Remo's latest girlfriend. The boy was profligate. There was no doubt about that.

"I beg your pardon, madam,'' said Chiun.

"What are you doing?"

"I am talking in English because he might have momentarily lost his command of good Korean."

"I don't believe it," sobbed Consuelo. She shook her head and stumbled against a seat in the corner. "I don't believe I am hearing this."

"You of no faith. Open your eyes. Look now at the fingertips. If you cannot sense the essence of life coming back strong, then at least feel the heat."

"I don't want to touch him."

Chiun did not argue. He merely, with a deft move of his fingers to the side of her skirt, got her moving to the bed. She had to stop her hysterics.

"Touch," he said.

"I don't want to," she said.

"Touch."

She felt her hand taken by an irresistible force and laid upon the matted dark hair of Remo's chest. The body was not cold yet. She felt her hand pressed down harder. At the cup of her palm, crushing the hair into the warm flesh, she felt a delicate thump. Then another thump. Then another. The heart was beating.

"My Lord," she gasped. "You brought him back to life."

"I did not, fool. No man can do that. That even I can't do."

"But he's alive."

"He was never dead. He was indeed dying, and as he felt himself succumb he shut down his functions, so as to suffer more slowly. It was not death. It was a deep protective sleep. I am surprised he even did that adequately. He can hear everything we say. So be careful. Don't lavish him with praise. I have already spoiled him."

"I've never heard you say a nice word to him."

"I have. Many times. That is what provoked this arrogance. That is why I am ridiculed and scorned."

"When will he get better?"

"When I learn to control my nurturing instincts. Then he will listen."

Remo's eyes opened a crack, as though there were too much sun in the room. A finger stretched out, very slowly, followed by another finger, and then the whole hand opened. The chest moved gently, and Consuelo could see he was breathing.

"He is coming back," she said.

"He was never gone," said Chiun. "If he listens, he will be well in no time."

"Good," said Consuelo. "The country is in danger. We have reason to believe that those who are stealing the uranium are just those people responsible for keeping it safe. There's nowhere to turn but us."

"Your country is always in danger," Chiun told the woman. "Every time I turn around your country is in danger. We have more important things than your country. It's not the only country in the world."

Remo groaned.

"Quiet," said Chiun. "It is your time to listen. If you had listened before with respect, you would not be here, disgracefully on your back in a motel room with a strange woman."

"You mean you're not going to help. Whatever he has sufferred he has suffered in the line of duty," said Consuelo.

"No, he hasn't. He's been punished for disrespect. What is this line of duty, and suffering? You are not supposed to suffer if you are an assassin. The other person is supposed to suffer," said Chiun.

"So you are not going to help America?"

Chiun looked at the woman as though she were mad. There were things Remo had to understand. He had to know why the gold was cursed. He had to know the tales of Master Go and why removing the pendant took away the curse from his body. He had to think correctly again. "Then you will not help either?"

"I am helping. I am helping whom I should help."

"Do you know that the uranium stolen could blow up thousands and thousands of people with horrible bombs?"

"I didn't make the bombs," said Chiun. What was this woman talking about?

"But you can stop them being made."

"By whom?" said Chiun. He saw Remo regain functions in the fingertips and the function control move up the arms. He massaged the shoulders. He lifted Remo's lips and examined the gums. Good. Good color. It had not gone too far.

"We don't know," said Consuelo.

"Then why should I attack someone whom I don't even know? The violence in this country is awful. I have seen it on your television. I know your country. Random violence among strangers, and not one professional assassination in how many Presidents who have been killed? I know your country, young woman," said Chiun. He opened Remo's eyelids wider to see the whites. Good. The pupils were coming back too.

"Please," said Consuelo. "Remo would want you to help his country."

"Just a minute," said Chiun, turning to the pleading woman.

"President McKinley. Assassinated. Amateur. John F. Kennedy. Dead. Another amateur. No payment involved anywhere. Your President Reagan missed on a city street by a mind-troubled boy. Another amateur. And this is a country you wish a professional assassin to save? You are not worth saving."

"Remo. Talk to him, please," said Consuelo. But Remo did not answer.

"I'll do it myself then. Remo, if you can hear me, remember I am going to NCA headquarters. I believe what you said. I believe we're the only ones who can save the country. I want you to carry on if I don't come back. I know you love America too. I guess I was always ambitious to prove I was as good as any man. But right now, all I want to do is save our country."

"Are you through?" said Chiun.

"Yes," said Consuelo. There were tears in her eyes now and she was not ashamed of them.

"Then close the door behind you, thank you," said Chiun.

"If Remo didn't hear me, and he comes to, would you tell him what I said?"

"Of course not," said Chiun.

"And I used to think you were the nice one," said Consuelo.

"And you were correct, too," said Chiun.

"You're horrible, you know. Really horrible. Remo was right."

"Did he say that?"

"He said you were difficult."

Chiun smiled. "I can't believe that," he said. His trainer had been difficult. His grandfather had been difficult. But the one thing about Chiun that Chiun understood above all things was that he was not difficult. If he had a problem, it was his tendency to be too nice. That was Chiun's problem. That was where all the trouble came from.

Chiun felt her turn on her heel and walk out the door. He examined the chest, the legs, the ears, all the meridians of the body. Good. Not much damage. The unity of the body, the rhythms, were off. But they would come back. He would be the same again, but this time Remo would meet a different Chiun. No more Mr. Nice Guy. No more being pushed around. He was through taking it anymore.