Francisco Jose - The Samsons - Two Novels

Senator Reyes faced Tony with an expansive mien. “You’ll be big there, son. You have the qualifications and, most important, the best connections …” His laughter was like the crack of splitting bamboo. “And you can even be the dean of your college if you like, let me see to that. And if you have complaints …”

Don Manuel shook hands with the Japanese and then with Senator Reyes. The door was open. “My son, Compadre , I’m sorry to tell you, has already left the university. He will start working with me.”

Senator Reyes paused. He looked disappointed. After a pause, “Well, that’s a lot better. At any rate,” he turned to Don Manuel again, “don’t tell me I didn’t try.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tony said automatically. Now it was all clear why Dean Lopez hated him. But it was beyond explaining now and no thought could shape in his mind, no thought, only revulsion.

He followed Don Manuel, who had returned to his wide steel desk. “I didn’t know, Papa,” Tony said, “that you had asked Senator Reyes to intercede for me.”

Don Manuel avoided him. “Wouldn’t you like being a regent? Or dean? Don’t you like the fact that I’m interested in your welfare?”

“I appreciate it, Papa,” he said, the fight ebbing out of him. “But I wish you would understand. I can go up on my own … it may take longer, but I can go up.”

Don Manuel stopped arranging the papers on his desk and faced Tony. “That’s what I like about you,” he said paternally. “You have pride. But remember, you are now in the family. And if I can help you get ahead I’ll do it.”

Then Don Manuel drifted back to the visitors who had gone and his tone became jovial again. “Politicians,” he said, “are a species you have to understand. No, they aren’t difficult at all. All that you must remember is that they are after one thing — money. Once you know that, you can’t be wrong. They are very brassy about it. Gentleman’s language — don’t waste this on politicians. They name their price and it’s up to you to haggle.”

Tony did not speak.

“That’s distasteful to you, isn’t it?” Don Manuel laughed slightly. “Well, that’s how it is. These are the realities. Maybe when this country has become industrialized these politicians will give jobs to their constituents. And if they can’t give jobs, they must help in another way. That’s where a little of their money goes.”

“Just like one big happy family,” Tony said.

“Don’t be so sarcastic about the family,” Don Manuel said. “In this organization, for instance, all the employees are related to one another. The family system — oh yes, I’ve heard young punks in the business underrating it. And they are right, too. I am all for efficiency. That’s why I’m going all out for this mill. But as long as there’s no substitute for the family, it stays. Besides, what substitute have you for loyalty? You can’t expect loyalty from the politicians. Not even at the price you pay them.”

“So money isn’t everything then,” Tony said happily, as if one last pinnacle of his own beliefs had stood up to the rich man’s battering reason.

“Of course money isn’t everything.” Don Manuel leaned back on his chair and beamed. “The price is not always money. But if you want to know what the price of a man is, or his services, you must be wise.” Don Manuel brought his forefinger to his right temple and tapped twice. “It’s all a matter of understanding what a man wants most. If you can give him that, then he is yours to command. Don’t expect that he will be eternally grateful, because all men hate to be indebted. Every man wants to be independent. As for the price, some men want friendship. If you can give them that, well and good. Money cannot buy friendship but it can create friendship. See? It can create the atmosphere. It can create the conditions for all the reasons you need. But, as I said, don’t expect gratitude. You’ll be terribly disappointed. All men act in self-interest. Even the conduct of nations is guided by this unerring rule. It was George Washington who said that, no?”

Tony nodded.

Don Manuel went back to his monologue. “It’s the truth. Everyone has a price. Christ had a price — the Cross and the salvation of mankind. I have a price — the future of the Villas and of everyone in the family. You have a price — and don’t feel that I’m insulting you. Your self-respect. I’m just stating a fact. You are vulnerable where you are most sincere. And I think that is why Carmen likes you. You have self-respect. As long as you know these vulnerable points you will know also how to deal with people. Even our highly touted press has its price. I know. I get my way around business editors. Everyone in this racket can be bought. I have yet to see one who cannot be bought.”

Tony looked at the ceiling and a thought crossed his mind. Godo — he had always been insufferable, but Godo was someone who would not bend to something as crass as money. He had gotten into trouble because of this single virtue — integrity — and he brimmed with it. He was cynical and brassy, vulgar, loud-mouthed. He was a peasant in manners and attitudes, but he was an aristocrat when it came to honor. Tony shook his head.

“You don’t agree, huh?” Don Manuel asked.

Tony nodded. Godo would yet be his redeemer, the one who could prove to Don Manuel that the price tag does not apply to all human beings. Godo would be his final proof that a man’s reward is in heaven. “I’m not very sure, Papa,” Tony said. “But if there’s anyone I can trust it’s Godo Soler, an editor and an old friend. He may have faults, but one thing I know, you can’t buy him.”

Don Manuel became silent. “Godo,” he said, twiddling his thumbs. “Well, I’ll remember that. Bring him to me someday. Next time there’s a party in the house, ask him to come. No, bring him to lunch — or dinner. I’ll yet find his price, and because he is your friend, I’ll be extra generous with him. It’s not that I want to prove you wrong, Tony. It’s simply I’ve never been wrong.”

One of the office boys came in apparently at the ring of a buzzer, and Don Manuel said, “Bring me a Coke — and Tony, is it coffee?”

Tony nodded. As the boy disappeared at the other end of the room, Don Manuel continued in the same serious vein: “I cannot find it in me to dispute the usefulness of the family system. For the moment it’s doing wonders. You get loyalty because of it — and efficiency. I have heard it said that with industrialization the family system will have to go.”

“I think that’s true, Papa,” Tony Samson said. “In the United States family corporations are a thing of the past.”

“In the United States,” Don Manuel repeated in an annoyed tone. “Must you always bring the United States into the conversation? The conditions in this country are different — that is the first thing you should know, Tony. This isn’t America; this is Asia.”

“I know, Papa,” Tony said, “but the family has to go if there must be industrialization. I remember in college we had a discussion along this line …”

“This isn’t college anymore, son,” Don Manuel said softly.

“I know that, too, Papa.”

“I hope I am not being a bore,” Don Manuel said apologetically. “No, I don’t think it’s wrong for people to be idealistic. I just ask that people like you be realistic enough to know that the real world is full of compromise.”

Tony loved Don Manuel’s clichés. His father-in-law was being emphatic.

“What I’m trying to say,” Don Manuel said, “is that poverty has its place, but what would happen if poverty were to become a symbol of the elite? Then there would be no more reason for people to want to work harder.”