By that Remo knew Chiun meant Harold W. Smith, director of CURE, whom Chiun called emperor because it kept up appearances. His ancestors, the past Masters of Sinanju, had slain in the service of history's kings and emperors, and Chiun, who hoped to go down in the histories of the House of Sinanju as Chiun the Great, could not admit to serving anything less than a caliph.
As they waited, Kula finished his long-distance conversation and hung up.
"It is done," he boomed. "We have an agreement."
"We have an agreement," said Chiun. "Now it is time to consult the oracle."
"What oracle?" asked Remo.
"That one," said Chiun.
All eyes followed the Master of Sinanju's indicating finger.
It was pointing toward a big-screen TV in one corner of the great square room.
Chapter 4
"It is a fearsome-looking oracle," intoned Lobsang Drom.
"It's a freaking TV," said Remo.
"Yes, it is a freaking TV," said Kula. "Now that we have thrown off the yoke of communism, there are freaking TVs just like that one in every town and ger in Mongolia. I myself have thirty such devices so that I may watch every program at once without having to change channels."
"It is no ordinary television," said Chiun. "It is an enchanted television."
"Enchanted television, my Buttafuoco," said Remo. "It's Japanese."
The others looked closely and saw the brand name: Nishitsu.
"Truly it is a Japanese TV, as well as a freaking one," muttered Kula.
"Is it a Zen oracle?" Lobsang Drom asked. "I cannot accept visions from an oracle that is Zen."
The Master of Sinanju shook his head sagely. "It is not Zen. And it will show us the new Bunji Lama if he lives."
"The Bunji Lama always lives," said Lobsang Drom.
"Not for long if you don't let him out of his trunk," said Remo.
Abruptly the Master of Sinanju clapped his hands together. "In order to consult the oracle, we must first consult the guide," he proclaimed. "Remo, fetch the mystic guide."
"What guide?"
"The guide to the oracle, witless one," Chiun hissed. "Are your ears filled with hardened wax?"
"No, but my nose is clogged from the stink of whatever's in that freaking trunk."
"I did not know it was a freaking trunk," muttered Kula.
"The guide is always kept in a place of honor atop the oracle so that it will not be misplaced by careless servants," Chiun said pointedly. "Now, bring it to us."
"Oh, that guide," said Remo. He padded over to the TV set and brought back the current week's issue. Chiun accepted it and turned it around so that the others could see the cover clearly.
"I cannot read those English characters," said Lobsang Drom, squinting.
"I can," said Kula. "The red shape forms the words, TV Guide. The Master speaks truly. It is the legendary TV Guide. Very rare to find a copy in this land of America."
"One shape makes two words?" said Lobsang Drom in wonderment.
"You should talk about another person's language," said Remo.
Lobsang Drom leaned closer, squinting at the cover. "Is that a dugpa I see?"
Remo looked. He didn't know what a dugpa was, but he figured it was as good a name for Roseanne Arnold as any.
"She is the most feared dugpa on American television," he assured the Tibetan.
"I do not know this word, ted-a-vish-on, " said Lobsang Drom slowly.
Remo asked, "Where have you been living-in a cave?"
"Yes."
Remo blinked. Then Chiun began consulting the guide to the oracle.
"I vote for 'The Twilight Zone,'" Remo whispered. "Rod Serling's usually good for putting things in perspective."
"Hush!" Chiun hissed. "I seek an augury of the Bunji Lama's fate in this guide."
"And if you find it?" asked Lobsang Drom.
"It will foretell the most auspicious time to consult the oracle on the fate of the Bunji Lama, which will be revealed to us on the dark screen of glass."
Lobsang Drom nodded. It was strange magic but not much stranger than a Tibetan oracle. Perhaps there was hope after all.
Remo noticed that Chiun was consulting the evening listings.
"If you find the Bunji Lama in there," he whispered, "I'll eat whatever's in that trunk."
His face tightening like a spiderweb whose anchorings were stretched taut, the Master of Sinanju ran a long-nailed forefinger down the listings.
"According to the guide to the oracle," he announced solemnly, "the Bunji Lama will be revealed to us at midnight."
Remo closed his eyes. His mind told him that midnight was less than an hour away. He hadn't needed a watch in years. He always knew what time it was. He just didn't know how he knew.
"I have lived for this moment most of my life," said Lobsang Drom, his voice trembling.
"This is a great moment," agreed Kula.
"This is a great big scam," Remo muttered.
"Scam?" said Lobsang Drom.
"It is American slang," said Chiun quickly. "It means a glorious occurrence."
"Yes, it is a great scam we are on the brink of," said Kula. And they drank tea in silence as they waited for the hour of midnight to strike.
"Anyone for opening the trunk?" Remo asked at one point.
Chiun shook his aged head. "It is not yet time."
"So what do we do-sit here telling camp-fire stories?" Remo snapped.
"I will build a fire," Kula said, starting to rise.
"No fire is necessary for those of us who sit in the presence of the Worshipful Nameless Ones in the Dark Who See the Light That is Coming," said Chiun in a magnanimous voice.
Seeing that the old Korean meant Lobsang Drom, Remo said, "Him? It's not dark, he told us his name and besides, he stuck his tongue out the moment he first laid eyes on me."
"Then you should be honored," said Chiun.
"Why should I be honored?" said Remo.
"In Tibet to display the tongue is to give greetings. "
"And you a chiding, " added Kula.
Remo looked his question.
"A foreigner," explained Kula.
"Foreigner? This is my country, not his."
"Now," said Kula.
"What do you mean-now?"
"The Khan of Khans talks of following in the war boots of Lord Genghis, may his praises be sung forever. At the proper moment, he intends to topple the citified Mongols who govern in Ulan Bator. Once that is done, China, Russia and other lands will follow. Korea will be spared, of course."
"I do not care what happens to South Korea, as long as no unpleasant sounds reach my village," said Chiun dismissively.
"Considerate of you," said Remo.
"North Korea will be spared," resumed Kula the Mongol. "Europe will fall in time, and then perhaps this country, if there is sufficient booty and the women are compliant."
"American women are about as compliant as mules," Remo said.
Kula grinned broadly. "I will be happy to tame these American mules."
"A lot of them are diseased. You could catch leprosy or something worse."
"I do not fear their diseases, for American women now have condoms of their very own. Their condoms will protect Mongol men from their diseases."
"Just try to get an American woman to wear one," Remo growled.
Kula leaned over to Remo and confided, "I have heard that they squeak like mice in bed."
"I never heard a woman squeak in bed in my life."
"I meant the condom."
"Let's just change the subject," said Remo, rolling his eyes. "You're a Mongol. Why are you so worried about Tibet?"
"The Chinese think Tibet is Chinese. The Tibetans know they are Tibetan. They are fighting now, which is good. Tibetans do not fight as much as they should, and so they are conquered often. At least once every second century."
"But we are fighting now," said Lobsang Drom.
Kula nodded. "Now you fight. It is a good thing
."
"I hear they're getting the crap kicked out of them," said Remo.
"Should they lose, and Tibet become a slave of China forever," said Kula, "the Chinese who think they rule Inner Mongolia will turn their eyes upon Outer Mongolia. This should not happen too soon, before Boldbator Khan unites all of Mongolia. Otherwise, Mongols might lose. And then we will never own the world. Excepting North Korea, of course," he added for Chiun's benefit.
"I do not care about all of North Korea," Chiun said. "Only my village of Sinanju."
Kula brightened. "You would not object if we sack Pyongyang?"
"Pyongyang is yours if the wailing of the vanquished does not keep innocent Sinanju babies awake at night."
"It is agreed. There will be no unseemly wailing. Any so inconsiderate as to wail will be beheaded without mercy."
"Before you divide up the whole world," Remo inserted, "let's stay on the subject. Where does the Bunji Lama fit into this?"
"We Mongols have always followed the Bunji Lama. This is well-known, White Tiger."
Chiun said, "Remo must be forgiven, for he is an orphan and raised by virgins."
"You Mongols are Buddhists?" Remo blurted.
"Of course. This is well-known, too."
"I thought Buddhists were pacifists."
Kula laughed roughly. "Tibetan Buddhists are pacifists. Not Mongol Buddhists. We are fighting Buddhists, proud to slay and conquer in the name of the Buddha of Infinite Compassion, knowing that those who die will be reincarnated anyway, so that Mongols can conquer and slay them all over again. It is a very good system. There is always something to do."
"In times past, Mongols were the protectors of Tibet," said Lobsang Drom.
"So why are you running around looking for the Bunji Lama instead of fighting to free Tibet?" wondered Remo.
"If Mongolia enters the fighting openly, there will be war between Mongolia and China. The Chinese would lose, of course. They only outnumber us five hundred soldiers to one Mongol horseman. But it will take time to defeat China. Better if the Chinese are demoralized by a Tibetan people led by the new Bunji Lama. Then when we strike, they will surrender without resistance, for they will know if they cannot defeat peaceful Tibetans, what chance have they against the new Golden Horde?"
"Fighting Buddhists, huh?" said Remo.
"We also worship ancestors," said Kula.
"Ancestor worship is a good thing," spoke Chiun.
"Do you worship your ancestors?" Kula asked Remo.
"No," said Remo.
Remo found himself the recipient of thin almond gazes that might have accused him of breaking wind loudly.
"He is an orphan," Chiun explained. "He does not know his ancestors and therefore cannot worship them. If he knew who they were, he would make offerings to them nightly."
"It is a sad thing to be an orphan," clucked Kula.
"And Christian, too," murmured Lobsang Drom, shaking his shaved head.
Remo rolled his eyes and prayed to his nameless ancestors for midnight to hurry up.
AT MIDNIGHT the Master of Sinanju closed his eyes and began to chant in Korean. Neither Kula nor Lobsang Drom spoke Korean, so only Remo knew that Chiun was heaping abuse, recriminations and dire warnings of what pain would be inflicted on him if he again spoke out of turn and jeopardized Chiun's promised roomful of gold.
Remo sat quietly, not saying anything when the old Korean began making passes in the air before the TV with his right hand while surreptitiously activating the remote control hidden in the folds of his lap with the left.
The set winked on.
Lobsang Drom gasped in surprise. Kula's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward on his mat.
"We will behold the Bunji Lama with our own eyes," he hissed.
Remo bit his tongue.
Happy-sounding music emerged from the speaker while the set warmed up. The brightening colors on the screen resolved into a free-spirited black woman dancing in and out of a free-floating graphic that read, "The Poopi Silverfish Show."
"Is that a sorcerer?" asked Lobsang Drom.
"It is Poopi Silverfish," said Chiun. "A famous wizard of this land."
"Her skin is as black as a corpse, and her hair hangs in mats," Lobsang muttered. "I have never see the like of it."
"Wasn't her show cancelled last year?" Remo asked.
"I told you this was a magic television," said Chiun.
"Or a rerun," grumbled Remo.
The credits faded, and the happy music segued to wind chimes. The picture became a darkened living room where Poopi Silverfish lounged on an overstuffed couch catercorner with a settee on which a redheaded figure sat sprawled.
The camera moved in closer.
And the voice of the Master of Sinanju lifted to proclaim, "Behold! Behold the long-lost Bunji Lama. "
Gasps came from the lips of Lobsang Drom and Kula the Mongol.
"It cannot be!" the Tibetan gasped.
"If you do not trust your eyes, Tibetan, then listen well with your ears."
"So, tell me," Poopi Silverfish was saying in a voice like a smoky cat's purr, "exactly how many lives have you lived?"
And the answer brought the eyes bugging out of Lobsang Drom's head.
"If you count the Moovian princess and the time I shared a Siamese soul with Mae West, thirty-two. I don't know why I keep coming back to this world, Poopi, but there must be a good reason."
"Maybe there's something you really need to do on this earth that you can't remember," suggested Poopi.
"That's exactly what my last guru told me!"
The Most Holy Lobsang Drom Rinpoche wrenched his stricken eyes from the screen. "Master of Sinanju," he said thickly, "how can this be?"
Chapter 5
"Wait a minute!" Remo blurted. "You know who that is? Squirrelly Chicane! She's a professional fruitcake."
Kula demanded, "You know this flame-haired woman, White Tiger?"
"Not personally. She's an actress. She also writes books about her life."
"More than one book?"
Remo shrugged. "She's got in her head that she's lived more than one life. And people eat it up."
Kula nodded somberly. "She is spreading the Buddha's teaching. That is a sign she has found the true path, even though she has had the misfortune to be born white."
Lobsang Drom wore a drained expression. "But she is a female," he said. "The Bunji Lama would not come back as a woman"
"Do not question the oracle," said the Master of Sinanju in a loud voice. "Watch and learn. Listen and believe, for the words spoken by the flame-haired incarnation of the Buddha to come will convince you with their sweet grace and forcefulness."
"Laying it on a little thick, aren't you, Little Father?" whispered Remo.
The Master of Sinanju reached over to take his incorrigible pupil by the hand and squeezed a wrist nerve that would test his ability to withstand pain.
Remo gritted his teeth and tried to pull away. Chiun exerted greater force. Remo squeezed his eyes shut but emitted no dishonorable sounds of surrender.
When he was satisfied that his willful white pupil would neither succumb to the overwhelming temptation to shout out his pain nor speak out of turn after it abated, Chiun released him.
Thereafter Remo sat quietly and watched the screen.
"I never heard of a Siamese soul," said Poopi Silverfish, shaking her head so her dreadlocks seemed to rattle. With her high cheekbones, very white teeth and animated eyes, she resembled a human marionette swayed by the tug of unseen strings.
"I may be the first human being in history to evolve a Siamese soul," said Squirrelly Chicane. "I think it's because my soul was searching for something important and knew it needed two bodies to do it."
"Do you know what it was, this important thing?"
"No. And frankly, Poopi, I'm becoming worried. I turn-dare I say it-sixty pretty soon. My Mae West body is dead, and now this one is getting a little frayed around the edges."
"Oh, don't say that!
You look great. And you're still the best hoofer in the business."
"Hoofer?" said Kula.
Remo swallowed the urge to crack that the speaker was half-yak.
Squirrelly Chicane beamed, and mischievous gleams came into her blue eyes. "Why, thank you for saying so, Poopi. But on the cosmic scale, I have only a twinkling of time left in this body. I'm afraid I'll have to wait for my next incarnation and I start the search all over again. Whatever it is."
"It is the Bunji Lama," breathed Kula.
"No, no," said Lobsang, shaking his head stubbornly. "It cannot be. She is white."
Kula frowned. "The age is correct. By her own words, she has seen nearly sixty yak-foaling seasons. The last Bunji Lama has been missing for that span. And her hair is like a flame."
"No, no, it cannot be. The Bunji Lama is fated to lead Tibet to greatness. That person is communing with a creature that might have climbed out of Hell itself."
"No argument there," said Remo.
"I do not see the joss without a face," said Lobsang.
"No doubt it is kept on a sacred altar that we must locate," Kula said firmly.
"Listen closely," said Chiun. "The words of the new Bunji Lama will unveil the truth if only you heed them."
The program continued. The Master of Sinanju pretended to watch as intently as the others, but he was actually observing the actions of his guests. Their faces, in the shifting glow of the television screen, were tight with concentration. The Mongol, Kula, wore the rapt expression of an accepting child. But Lobsang Drom contorted his long face with every sentence that reached his ears. From his saffron robe, he extracted a Buddhist rosary of tiny jade skulls and fingered them nervously.
"How do you come up with all these past lives, Squid?" Poopi Silverfish was saying. "I mean, do they come to you in dreams or something?"
"Past-life regressions. My guru taught me how to invoke the buried memories. But we broke up. Now I do it all myself."
Poopi Silverfish rolled her eyes, and her dark face broke out in a smile that managed to be beatific and goofy at the same time. "You know, sometimes I like to think I was the Queen of Sheba about a million years ago."
"I was a princess in the lost continent of Moo twenty million years ago. My name was Toomazooma."
"How did it turn out?"
"Moo sank and I drowned. To this day my heart pounds uncontrollably whenever I slip into the Jacuzzi.
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