"Destroyer 034 - Chained Reaction.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

And he was coming here. To the office.
She tried to smile harder, but when your jaw is stretched like a two-sizes-too-small leotard, there is no harder to give. So she fainted.
When Remo felt the presence of Chiun moving toward him, the deep brooding darkness torturing his soul suddenly blossomed into sunlight.
"Little Father," said Remo, "you're coming with me. It's the happiest day of my life."
"It is the saddest day of mine," said Chiun. "For I cannot allow the desecration you plan of my gifts and the gifts of the masters of thousands of years of Sinanju to go unwitnessed. I must bear the full pain of your evil."
Chiun folded his long fingernails into his flowing robes.
"We can get your steamer trunks later," Remo said.
"Nothing for you to worry about. They are just my dearest treasures," said Chiun. "Why should I be able to rescue even that meager portion of joy for my life? I have brought a white into Sinanju and now I must pay."
"I'll get them now."
"No," said Chiun. "Do not bother your selfish heart."
"I will."
"I see the taxi," said Chiun.
"He'll wait. I'll carry them on my back."
"I will forego them. I would not trouble the selfish. It is against your nature to do something
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for another, even for one who has done so much for you."
"I want to," Remo said.
"Yes. I know you do. Carry a trunk. By white arithmetic that equals thousands of years of the powers of the universe. I give you one precious gem, you carry a bag. Well, you're not dealing with some bumpkin from a small fishing village in the West Korea Bay. You can't cheat me like that. Come, we go."
"The bags aren't here, are they?" said Remo.
"It doesn't matter that they were shipped days ago to a picking-up point. What matters is that you thought carrying them equaled what I gave you. That's what mattered. That's why I am here. I must see with my own eyes the degradation to which you have put the sun source of all hand fighting. I must suffer this evil because I have created it. And you will never cheat me again by carrying a bag."
And thus did Chiun, having planned all along to go with Remo, escape not only having to admit so, but once again showing how the world ill repaid his awesome kindness and decency.
The business Remo was going into, taking his skills with him, was advertising. Chiun knew of advertising and they discussed this on the Delta flight out of West Palm Beach to New York City.
Chiun knew of advertising. Before soap operas had been degraded by including the unpleasant things of life, Chiun had watched all of them closely and in so doing had become aware of the selling of household products in America. They were, he knew, mostly poisons.
"You will not be handling soaps?" asked Chiun,
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horrified at the thought of burning lye and fat on Remo's skin. He had been so pale when Chiun had gotten him for training years before and now with the health back in his skin, Chiun did not want it washed away with American poisons.
"No. I'm going to demonstrate a product."
"You are not going to put white chemicals in your body?"
"No," Remo said.
"Aha," said Chiun and there was joy in his face for he knew. "How could I have misjudged my training? How could I have felt you would desecrate what I have taught you? My gift is beyond desecration."
"Little Father," said Remo hesitantly. "I don't think you understand."
"Of course I understand. Americans may be white but they are not complete fools. They will say look, look at the wonders of Sinanju and you will demonstrate on some boxer or whoever they think is strong the awesomeness of Sinanju. And then they will say Sinanju has its power by eating one of whatever they are selling. And then you will say you have eaten that as part of your training, which also explains the greater mystery of why they have asked you to demonstrate and not me. I have one request. When you say how good the product is and you put it in your mouth, chew, don't swallow, because all American food is poison."
"It's not that, Little Father. I'm not going to demonstrate Sinanju."
"Oh. I feared that," Chiun said and he was quiet until just over New York City when he had a question. "Will you appear on television?"
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"Yes."
"Are you not supposed to be modest and secret? You do everything so that people will not recognize our glories. This is part of your inscrutable white character. But your face will surely be recognized."
"They won't be filming my face. They'll be filming my hands."
And Chiun thought about that too but he knew it was foolish because Remo's hands would never be able to show how mild a soap was. They were more sensitive than women's hands. And that was for women's commercials for women's soaps. Men's commercials sold soaps strong enough to be used as tortures.
It was a vicious white cycle. First they ate meat fats that gave them a rancid flavor, then they scrubbed off the putrescence with poisons.
"If not soap, what?" asked Chiun.
"Do you remember the first exercises for the hands?"
"Which one? There are so many."
"The orange," said Remo.
"Peeling," said Chiun.
"Right. The one where I learned that the hand is a function of the spinal cord by peeling an orange with one hand."
"It's hard for children," said Chiun.
"Well, I was doing it at the marina and I met this investor and ..."
As Remo told the story, it was a typical tale of disaster, starting out with a wonderful idea and lots of money. A growth company with a knack for massive fast profits got a report on home-tool use, showing the kitchen area was "about to
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