The Samsons: Two Novels; (Modern Library) by F. Sionil Jose Page B

Godo reprimanded him.
    “Semantics—that’s for gutless aesthetes,” Charlie said. He spoke seldom, but when he did his opinions were strong and his words had a sure, unrelenting sharpness.
    “I do hope all this noise will die down,” Tony said. “Then maybe we will be less conscious about being Filipinos. I wish I could write on that. Could you use it if I did?”
    “You are always welcome to our pages,” Charlie said. “And more so now that we can attach a Ph.D. to your byline. It’s good for the magazine. Gives us snob appeal.”
    “I liked your last piece,” Godo said, “about the uses of the past. But I doubt if you believe all you said. You are always trying to pull someone’s leg, and sometimes it is your own. I gather that the piece constituted your doctoral thesis.”
    “Yes,” Tony said proudly. “The
ilustrados
had much to contribute to the Revolution of 1896, you know. They knew the past and its meaning.”
    “It’s not the complete truth,” Godo said firmly. “I disagree with you when you say it’s the whole truth. The
ilustrados
were not the heroes, nor were they brave. It was the masses who were brave. They were the heroes. Not your Rizal, c who wanted to help the Spaniards frustrate the Cuban revolutionists. Not your Rizal, who loathed revolution.He and his kind—they were not the real heroes. It’s always the small men who are. Bonifacio d and the farmers at Balintawak. The people—you call them contemptible, don’t you.”
    “That is not true,” Tony said. “I’m poor, too.”
    “Yeah, but you have the attitudes of the rich. Well, the people, the ones you suggest are the rabble, they are the ones who rise to great heights when the time comes. Revolutions for a better life are never made by the rich or the intellectuals. They have everything to lose. Revolutions are made by small men, poor men—they are the ones who suffer most. They care the least about the status quo.”
    “But revolution is so outmoded now,” Tony Samson said, thinking of his father and his grandfather. He was thinking, too, of Lawrence Bitfogel, his roommate for four years in Cambridge, who had told him bluntly the very things Godo was saying. “The
ilustrados
,” Tony tried to defend his thesis, “you must remember, had the minds to plan, the money, and, most important, the capacity to administer government.”
    “Yes,” Godo said, “they also had the mind and the capacity to accept the bribes the Spaniards gave them at the Pact of Biak-na-bato. Paterno—all the merchants and shopkeepers you worship now—they were all bribed.… I’m sorry you wasted so much time on that thesis. Yes, it’s interesting, it’s well done—your article on the past—but it’s not the whole truth. Slash away at the myths. That America gave us democracy, that MacArthur ordered us to fight the Japs as guerrillas. Our job is to destroy myth, not build them.”
    It was useless arguing—they would not understand, they did not have his training and his background. “I’ll try to do that,” Tony said, affecting a tone of humility; then he changed the subject abruptly: “But I’ll not be able to write for you in the near future. As a matter of fact, I’m getting married.”
    The maneuver worked and Godo turned to him: “To whom?”
    “Don’t ask because I won’t tell. It’s a surprise. But don’t worry, I’ll invite you to the wedding. Next week or next year.”
    “Charlie has to get married soon, too,” Godo said. “It is a wonderful institution, but never marry for any reason except love. Then you won’t have regrets. Somehow every problem seems easy tosolve. Money, I’ve come to realize, is one of the easiest problems to overcome. It’s when something happens to your inner self—that’s something money can’t solve.”
    “Another profound comment of the afternoon,” Charlie said lightly.
    But Godo was dead serious. “That’s the truth and you better think about it.”
    “How is your