[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
cratered condition of the single runway.
The plane didn't come to a full stop. Engines spooling down, it trundled past
the terminal and the door was flung open by stewardesses in flak jackets.
A speeding truck with a set of bullet-pocked air-stairs scooted out from a
hangar and ran parallel to the open door.
"I demand this craft halt and I be allowed to leave it with the dignity
befitting my station," Chiun told the stewardess in charge.
"It would be suicide to stop," the stewardess said.
"Come on, little Father," said Remo, hanging in the door frame. "Shake a
leg."
The stewardess tried to pull Remo back in with her gold-painted nails. "No,
please do not go. It would be suicide."
"Why are you okay with him getting off and not me?" Remo wondered, indicating
the Master of Sinanju.
"He is old and will die soon. You are full of youth and brimming with sperm."
"Sperm?"
"Your sperm is important to us,"
"Check with me on the ride back," said Remo, jumping off and onto the rattly
top step of the speeding air-stairs.
The Master of Sinanju floated off and joined him. There were no other
passengers.
The truck careered toward the terminal and came to a brief stop at the gaping
hole where the jetway ramp used to be before a mortar barrage had taken it
out. It still smoked a little in the brassy midday sun.
Remo and Chiun stepped across the gap and entered the refugee-choked terminal.
On the tarmac the jet screamed back into the sky with tracers chasing it.
Page 57
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
There were no taxicabs waiting outside, but there was a line of scarred and
bullet-pocked camels.
Chiun walked up to the man who seemed to be in charge of the camels and began
conversing with him in fluent Swahili.
"I am not riding any camel," Remo called over. Chiun continued his haggling.
Hot words were exchanged, and the argument might have gone on two or three
hours except one camel expectorated on the Master of Sinanju's sandals.
Emitting an offended scream, Chiun began walking in circles, alternately
pointing at the offending camel, at the offending camel's owner and at the
offending camel again, his squeaky voice escalating into fulsome shrieks.
Chiun came back leading the offending camel by a thick rope. "We have a
steed," he announced.
"No, you have a spitting camel."
The camel obligingly backed up Remo's statement by spitting rudely in the dust
of Nogongog.
"He cannot spit on those perched atop him," Chiun declared.
"No sale. And don't think I didn't see what you did, because I did."
"I have gotten redress for an insult."
"My left foot. You saw that camel was spitting to beat the band. You moved
your sandal closer to take a shot in the foot."
"Ridiculous. It was an insult."
"Even if you didn't move your foot into spitting range, you could have moved
it away in plenty of time."
"I gave the camel drover a choice. Loan me the offending beast without charge
or wipe my sandal clean with his beard."
"You don't have to tell me how it turned out," Remo said, glumly, eyeing the
camel. The camel eyed him back. His rubbery mouth masticated something dark
and malodorous with ominous relish, and Remo took three hasty steps back and
one to the right.
The saliva made a greenish splash off to his left. The camel resumed his
patient masticating.
"I'm not riding that spitball maker!"
"Of course," said Chiun. "You must bargain for your own camel."
"I don't ride camels. They smell, they're unsanitary and they're rude."
"Then you may walk," said the Master of Sinanju, motioning for the camel to
kneel. To Remo's surprise, it did, getting down on all four knobby knees.
When Chiun was comfortably balanced atop its hump, he made a clucking sound,
and the camel rose with a strange grace to his feet.
The camel started off. Remo followed.
He soon found there was no happy place to walk near a moving camel. If he led,
the camel tried to taste the back of his T shirt. Walking on either side
invited expectoration.
And walking in the rear subjected Remo to camel gas or puddinglike droppings.
The city seemed to be victim to the immediate aftermath of revolution. There
was looting. Dark, frightened faces peered from bullet-broken windows. Fires
had blackened many buildings. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
cratered condition of the single runway.
The plane didn't come to a full stop. Engines spooling down, it trundled past
the terminal and the door was flung open by stewardesses in flak jackets.
A speeding truck with a set of bullet-pocked air-stairs scooted out from a
hangar and ran parallel to the open door.
"I demand this craft halt and I be allowed to leave it with the dignity
befitting my station," Chiun told the stewardess in charge.
"It would be suicide to stop," the stewardess said.
"Come on, little Father," said Remo, hanging in the door frame. "Shake a
leg."
The stewardess tried to pull Remo back in with her gold-painted nails. "No,
please do not go. It would be suicide."
"Why are you okay with him getting off and not me?" Remo wondered, indicating
the Master of Sinanju.
"He is old and will die soon. You are full of youth and brimming with sperm."
"Sperm?"
"Your sperm is important to us,"
"Check with me on the ride back," said Remo, jumping off and onto the rattly
top step of the speeding air-stairs.
The Master of Sinanju floated off and joined him. There were no other
passengers.
The truck careered toward the terminal and came to a brief stop at the gaping
hole where the jetway ramp used to be before a mortar barrage had taken it
out. It still smoked a little in the brassy midday sun.
Remo and Chiun stepped across the gap and entered the refugee-choked terminal.
On the tarmac the jet screamed back into the sky with tracers chasing it.
Page 57
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
There were no taxicabs waiting outside, but there was a line of scarred and
bullet-pocked camels.
Chiun walked up to the man who seemed to be in charge of the camels and began
conversing with him in fluent Swahili.
"I am not riding any camel," Remo called over. Chiun continued his haggling.
Hot words were exchanged, and the argument might have gone on two or three
hours except one camel expectorated on the Master of Sinanju's sandals.
Emitting an offended scream, Chiun began walking in circles, alternately
pointing at the offending camel, at the offending camel's owner and at the
offending camel again, his squeaky voice escalating into fulsome shrieks.
Chiun came back leading the offending camel by a thick rope. "We have a
steed," he announced.
"No, you have a spitting camel."
The camel obligingly backed up Remo's statement by spitting rudely in the dust
of Nogongog.
"He cannot spit on those perched atop him," Chiun declared.
"No sale. And don't think I didn't see what you did, because I did."
"I have gotten redress for an insult."
"My left foot. You saw that camel was spitting to beat the band. You moved
your sandal closer to take a shot in the foot."
"Ridiculous. It was an insult."
"Even if you didn't move your foot into spitting range, you could have moved
it away in plenty of time."
"I gave the camel drover a choice. Loan me the offending beast without charge
or wipe my sandal clean with his beard."
"You don't have to tell me how it turned out," Remo said, glumly, eyeing the
camel. The camel eyed him back. His rubbery mouth masticated something dark
and malodorous with ominous relish, and Remo took three hasty steps back and
one to the right.
The saliva made a greenish splash off to his left. The camel resumed his
patient masticating.
"I'm not riding that spitball maker!"
"Of course," said Chiun. "You must bargain for your own camel."
"I don't ride camels. They smell, they're unsanitary and they're rude."
"Then you may walk," said the Master of Sinanju, motioning for the camel to
kneel. To Remo's surprise, it did, getting down on all four knobby knees.
When Chiun was comfortably balanced atop its hump, he made a clucking sound,
and the camel rose with a strange grace to his feet.
The camel started off. Remo followed.
He soon found there was no happy place to walk near a moving camel. If he led,
the camel tried to taste the back of his T shirt. Walking on either side
invited expectoration.
And walking in the rear subjected Remo to camel gas or puddinglike droppings.
The city seemed to be victim to the immediate aftermath of revolution. There
was looting. Dark, frightened faces peered from bullet-broken windows. Fires
had blackened many buildings. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]