On this day in Racine, a very sweet-looking housewife who was extremely polite got through the second grid. She simply excused herself and squeezed past the agents; and because the metal detectors at the perimeter of the second grid picked up nothing on her body, no one would suspect that the demure lady wanted anything more than a better view. Until she actually reached the podium.
“You cannot shut out the light of the universe. Your negativity will fail,” she shrieked. The cameras moved from the President, who was explaining how the nation was going to feed itself with an alteration in farm policy, to the woman's flailing arms. The body grid pulled closer to the podium. Within seconds the Secret Service wrestled her into an empty room for questioning.
“You can never harm me,” she said, relaxed and smiling sweetly at everyone. But when she began urinating a doctor was called to put her into an ambulance. The woman's identification said she was a housewife, but she could not remember her married name. Nor could she recall where she lived, or how she had gotten to Racine. She didn't care about religious freedom; she only cared about one issue:
When was she going to get ice cream?
Even stranger, the agent who stopped her was found later that night wandering around Racine, thrilled that he had fifty dollars in his pocket. With that money, he was telling everyone, he could see twenty-five movies in a row if he didn't buy candy.
At every stop in the Midwest that week, similar incidents occurred. Once, one of the loonies almost reached the President.
Finally the Secret Service had to tell him, quite sadly, that they could not protect him anymore if he left the White House. Something was coming at him, and they had no idea yet what it was.
The President listened stoically, and then, when they were gone, went himself to his bedroom, where the previous President had pointed out the red phone, the special phone to reach the special people. He had used it often in his presidency and now he would use it again. All he had to do was pick up the receiver and two of the most powerful bodyguards in the world would be put at his disposal.
“Smith here, sir,” came the voice.
“Smith, I have a problem that I am not sure would come under your jurisdiction. Somebody, or something, is attacking me. And my Secret Service says sooner or later they're going to succeed.”
Chapter 7
The Poweressence temple in Miami Beach was an elegant Spanish villa with spacious verandas. But Remo and Chiun met their first Powies several blocks away. They were trying to encourage them to take a character test. Much to Chiun's disgust, Remo accepted for both of them.
Outside the villa on its magnificent black metal gates a crude sign was posted:
“Free Character Test.”
“This I cannot even imagine why you are doing,” said Chiun.
“Some people are attacking the President. They are doing it with a strange phenomenon. And somehow the attackers forget what they've done, how they've done it, and even who they are. But there are too many Poweressence people involved not to investigate them.”
“I'm sorry I asked,” said Chiun. He wore a plain gray traveling kimono because he had been thinking about moving from Miami Beach. He was considering finding a more permanent home in America, which saddened him. If they bought a more permanent home here, that meant they would live here longer, and the longer they worked for Smith, the less chance of ever adding to the glory of Sinanju. Mad Emperor Smith not only insisted that everything be secret but also apparently was never going to seize this country's throne. The horror of it was that these whites were actually telling the truth when they talked about the people selecting a leader, instead of inheriting a traditional and more stable monarch by birth or even the more reasonable hand of the professional assassin, the traditional assassin, the house of assassins that had given the world more leaders than any royal line. This house of assassins that Remo refused to honor by doing something that would enhance its histories. Instead, he continued to serve a country which never taught him anything and an emperor so mad he openly admitted now he did not believe in vengeance.
“I guess this is it,” said Remo.
“What is it? We are going to be priests now? What are we doing here?”
“I just explained to you,” said Remo. “If you don't like it, go back to the condo. I don't need you. You know I don't need you.”
“You do need me. But not for these silly things Emperor Smith sends you to do. Will you do his shopping next?”
“We may be saving the life of the President of the United States,” said Remo.
“Why? We don't work for him. We work for Smith. We should be removing the President of the United States. We should be making Smith president.”
“He wouldn't be president if we killed the President. The Vice-President would become president.”
“Then him too. I remember the histories of the Lesser Wang. A shaman, a priest and distant relative to the king, called upon Sinanju with a great problem. Between him and the throne were fourteen heirs, from princes to princesses to royal lords. The Lesser Wang promised that within one year the shaman would be king. And he was. A vice-president has no more eternal life than a president.”
“But after that comes the Secretary of State, I believe.”
“When does Smith become emperor?”
“He never becomes emperor. Don't you understand?”
“If he never becomes emperor, what is he doing with the finest assassins in the history of the world? Why is he wasting Sinanju?”
“We're not wasting Sinanju. We're helping to save a country I love. Don't you understand? You don't want to understand.”
“No. I do not wish to understand that you love thousands of square miles of waste and pollution and two hundred and twenty million people you have never met. Not when you give nothing to the one who gives you your powers. That's all right. I am used to this, Remo. I am used to your ingratitude. At least I should be by this time.”
“It doesn't mean I don't love you.”
“If you loved me, really loved me, we would be working for an emperor. You would not waste your talents and skills on this... this whatever-we're-doing.”
“We're doing it,” said Remo, and they were at the gate, where a young man in glasses and a white shirt handed them a piece of paper offering a free character test.
“That's what we're here for. We want to join.”
“You're supposed to get the free character test and then you join.”
“We want to join,” said Remo.
“Could you take the test first?”
“We have characters. Why do we need character tests?” asked Chiun.
“I don't know,” said Remo. “He wants us to take a test. We'll take a test.”
“I don't want to take a test,” said Chiun.
“Then don't.”
“Are you going to take the test?”
“Yes.”
“Then I'll take the test,” said Chiun. “We will see whose character is superior or...”
“Or what?” said Remo.
“We will see if it is a bad test.”
“You can't stand to lose, Little Father,” said Remo.
“When I can lose, we're dead.”
The test was given in a large room divided by small movable walls. Chiun tore down the wall between Remo and himself so he could see Remo's answers.
“You can't do that!” said a young woman with a loose-leaf folder.
“I just did,” said Chiun. “I could do that all day.”
“They mean you shouldn't, Little Father.”
“Then they should express themselves more clearly.”
The young woman looked to the other men in the room. They confirmed that these two were indeed hers.
“Hello,” she said. “My name is Daphne Bloom. I am a counselor here at Poweressence. We are not trying to sell you anything, but rather to see if you might need what we have to offer.”
Daphne was attractive, with a pert smile and a bouncy body
to match. But every time the smile disappeared, she appeared desperately intense. The smile was only an external interruption.
“We don't normally test two people at once, but since you have removed the screen, I guess that's the way we'll do it. Who will go first?”
“Me,” said Remo.
“I will go first,” said Chiun.
“Go ahead,” said Remo.
“No, you go. I want to hear your answers, so that I can show the correct answers.”
“This is a character test, Little Father. No one wins.”
“Someone wins in every test.”
“You both can win,” said Daphne, “if you find out what you need in life.”
Remo glanced around the room. There were no curtains, no pictures, just the little cubicles placed in the center of what probably had been a vast dance floor. It seemed like a desecration, turning elegance into office space.
The room smelled of old cigarette smoke and floor cleaner. The chairs were hard metal folding devices, the table of the cubicle some synthetic composite designed by an accountant somewhere who thought low cost was the object.
“The first question is: Are you happy mostly, somewhat, or not at all?” asked Daphne.
“I can be happy knowing Remo is doing the right thing,” said Chiun.
“Which means?”
“I am never happy,” said Chiun.
“You're always happy, Little Father. You're happy when you're bitching.”
“Put down 'never happy, ever,'” said Chiun. “Would you be happy, beautiful young lady, if you had a son who talked to you like that?”
“I don't think I would,” said Daphne. “He's your son? You don't look white.”
“I am Korean.”
“Oh, he's Korean?”
“See?” said Chiun.
“Get on with the questioning. I'm white,” said Remo.
“Even this beautiful intelligent young woman knows,” said Chiun. “Thank you, miss.”
“All right, Remo, are you happy mostly, sometimes, rarely?”
“All the time,” snapped Remo.
“You don't look happy.”
“I'm happy. Get on with it.”
“I am the one who is unhappy,” said Chiun.
“You look happy,” said Daphne.
“One must bestow joy on his surroundings. Through joy, we have joy,” said Chiun.
“That's beautiful,” said Daphne.
“Wait until he tells you about heads on the wall,” said Remo.
“Are you some Oriental religion? I love Oriental religions.”
“I am Sinanju,” said Chiun.
“That's beautiful,” said Daphne. “I love the sound.”
“Then you'd better like dead bodies,” said Remo.
“How can you be so negative?” said Daphne. “I'm putting you down for negative.”
“It's the truth,” said Remo. “Okay, when do we join? I got the money right here.”
Daphne put down the loose-leaf book. Her eyes narrowed and her back straightened. Her voice rang with conviction.
“Some people may be in this for money, but they're losing the true strength of Poweressence. I have been in Sedona, est, Scientology, Intensive Reunification, but only now have I found the one thing that has turned my life around.”
“From what?” asked Remo.
“Leave this good and beautiful girl alone,” said Chiun. “She is trying to help.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Daphne.
“Am I winning?” asked Chiun.
“With me you are, sir.”
“She is not only beautiful, she is wise.”
“Okay, is the test over? We'd like to join.”
“There are more questions,” said Daphne. “Are you ever bothered by something you can't seem to forget, something that just won't go away, some pain that recurs and you don't know why?”
“No. Can I join now?” said Remo.
“And you, sir?” Daphne asked Chiun.
Chiun nodded to Remo. “You are looking at that pain.”
“In love relationships, do things seem to go well for a while and then suddenly the person seems to be someone you don't like or who does hurtful things?”
“Ah,” said Chiun. “Wisdom and beauty are one in you, my child.”
“No,” said Remo. “Can I join now?”
“Do good opportunities seem to vanish from you when others enjoy them?”
“We can serve anyone in the world but are being held down in this madhouse going nowhere,” said Chiun.
“And you, Remo, I imagine, 'No'?”
“Right. Can we join?”
“In a minute,” snapped Daphne.
“Do you feel sometimes that the world is not a nice place to live? You, Remo, never, right? And you, Mr. Chiun?”
“To meet someone as wise as you enlightens and brightens the entire world for everyone,” said Chiun.
Daphne trembled. Her eyes watered. “That's beautiful,” she said. “We don't usually have winners and losers, Mr. Chiun, but you win. And you... you lose, Remo.”
Chiun beamed. Remo shrugged and asked if they could join now.
“You are eligible for entrance level, the adjustment to your world and how to be happier, richer, more content and powerful in ten steps. Do you want that?”
“Not really,” said Remo. “I want to join.”
“Three hundred dollars for each of you.”
Remo had it in cash. He had brought a large bankroll at Smith's suggestion. He peeled off six one-hundred-dollar bills and then asked to take the next course.
“You haven't taken the first one yet.”
“That's all right,” said Remo.
“I won't take the money,” said Daphne.
“Is there a manager?”
“He won't take it either. You have got to take the course. You have got to expand your astral relationships. You have got to get your past lives in order so that you can move on through this one unencumbered by ancient sins.”
“You speak great wisdom, child,” Chiun said in English, and then in Korean said, “Only whites would believe something this stupid.”
“A lot of Orientals believe stuff like that,” Remo answered in Korean.
“Not quite that stupid. That stupid is white,” said Chiun, and then switched back to English to tell Daphne Bloom how excited he was about taking the first level.
Remo asked if they could take the first level in ten minutes because he wanted to get on to the second level before lunch. Twelve thousand dollars later, they were at Level Seven, with Daphne Bloom suddenly discovering that she was elevated to spiritual director because of her success with these two clients.
“But I haven't coordinated all my past lives,” she told the manager.
“That's okay, honey. You're a real winner. We got live ones now. Push it over the top. You can have free courses for life and a commission.”
“I don't want commissions. I want my self-unity to unleash my power,” said Daphne.
“Better yet. You got it. You got all the past lives you can handle, honey,” said the manager of the Poweressence Miami Beach temple. “Could I interest you in some real estate too?”
Near the end of the day, Remo allowed as how he wanted to take more and more courses, hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of courses, but he and his friend had a problem.
“We might have to go to jail. You see, there is this troublesome little court case against me and my friend and we'll have to stop now. Can't study this stuff in prison.”
“We'll mail it,” said the manager.
“No. I just really have to be out of prison to enjoy this. I hear that once you get this stuff into your system, everything works out well for you.”
“Who told you that?” asked the manager.
“A businessman I know,” said Remo, “and a rancher. And a mobster. They have a lot of faith in you.”
“Big stuff has to move through upstairs. Maybe I can arrange something.”<
br />
“That would be nice,” said Remo.
“But you've got to tell them I sent you. You've got to tell them you belong to the Miami Beach temple of Poweressence.”
“You can count on it,” said Remo.
“Do you want to join the crusade also?” asked the manager.
“What crusade?”
“The crusade for freedom of religion in America.”
“I thought anyone could believe what they wanted.”
“Not if you don't please the powers that be. Not if you are fearless in your defense of truth. Not if you are positive.”
“Are those the people who hold up signs and run at the President whenever he makes a speech?” asked Remo.
“I don't know those people but I do know our famous Kathy Bowen, who is leading the crusade. You can contribute to that.”
“Who's Kathy Bowen?”
“Famous Kathy Bowen?” asked the manager.
“Yeah. Her,” said Remo.
“She's the hostess on Amazing Humanity,” said the manager.
“I don't know what that is either.”
“It's people doing fantastic things. Fantastic. They eat frogs, run through fire, build homes out of bottle caps, run races after they've suffered horrible operations,” said the manager.
“I don't watch it. Where can I reach Kathy Bowen?”
“At crusade headquarters in California.”
“What does it take to join?” asked Remo.
“A commitment to truth, freedom of worship, and the American way, plus five thousand dollars.”
“Why do I feel I could join the crusade for free?”
“You can, but the five thousand is a donation to help fight religious persecution in America.”
“I like religious persecution,” said Remo.
The manager sat beneath a picture of clear-eyed, forward-looking Rubin Dolomo. On his desk was a stack of mimeographed bulletins called “Truth Grams.” The manager kept looking at Remo's wrists. He stared at the eyes, not into them. Remo could tell where the man's pupils focused because they always reflected the level they operated from.
“Well, religious persecution is fine. Whatever. Whatever the force of power gives to you. Thank you and good day,” said the manager.
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