The Samsons: Two Novels; (Modern Library) Read Online Free PDF

never see you again,” he finally said.
    “You knew I would come back.”
    The old man nodded. “I know—that I know. But I thought you would come back to claim a corpse.” The old man shook his head. “I do not want to speak like this … but it is the truth. I am glad youcame before I died. I am dying, son.” He was stating a fact that did not need to be glossed over. “But it has been a good life. I see you tall and straight, grown up and able to stand alone. Your sister is well—how I would like to see my grandchildren! It has been a good life, and that takes out some of the sting of death.”
    It was the first time the old man had spoken about dying; his father had always talked of past angers or delighted in describing the truck garden he was tending, the milking cow he was pasturing. He had not expected to hear this in his first meeting with his father in six years. “You’ll live to be a hundred,” he said lightly, not wanting to be morbid.
    The old man shook his head. “I’m not sad, my son,” he said, his voice grown brittle. Soon he was coughing, a deep raspy cough. When it was over, “And your sister? And her children? She has never brought them to me. Tell her to bring the children, even just once so I can see them before I die.”
    “I’ll do that, Father.”
    “You have changed.” The old man drew away and looked at his son. “You have grown more stout, and your hands … how soft they have become. Well, what did you bring home from America? What did you do there?” The small, wrinkled eyes seemed serious.
    “I studied to be a teacher, just as you said I should,” Tony said.
    “I have always been proud of you and your sister,” the old man said, looking away, a new smile lighting up his face. “Many times I’ve been sorry I haven’t shared your life more. I know that you are not proud of me. No one is proud of us—” he paused and swept the hall with a glance; the other inmates in orange uniforms were receiving visitors, too. “But someday you and your sister will understand.”
    “Please, Father,” Tony said in feeble protest.
    The old man sighed. He leaned against the rough adobe wall and lifted his eyes to the asbestos ceiling. Around them was the noise of people, the happy talk of relatives and children.
    “I brought something for you,” Tony said. He took out of his pocket the cigarette lighter he had bought in Hong Kong.
    The old man fondled the lighter. “I can’t use it,” he said quickly. “It’s much too good for me. But Bastian—one of the guards, a nice young man who calls me
Ama
—I’ll give it to him and he will be grateful.”
    Tony wanted to say no but he nodded instead. “Is there anythingI can do, Father? I’ve made some friends in America who might be able to help us. It is not too late to hope that someday you will be out and …”
    The old man reached for his son’s hand and pressed it. “What is there for me to do outside? I won’t live another year, son. And sometimes, if you and your Manang † Betty have time, do come and see me. If you ever go to Rosales again, don’t forget to visit your mother’s grave. And when you get married, try to get one who will stand by you.”
    Tony stood up. He had thought about this reunion, had tried to shape the words, all the proper things to say, even if his father was this sorry shadow of a man; this old, withered man who had soaked suffering into his bones and numbness from his years in this prison. “I also came to tell you something very important,” Tony said. “I ask your permission that I may get married soon.”
    For awhile they just looked at each other. Then the old man stood up and placed an arm around his son’s waist. “You know very well you don’t have to ask my permission about anything you do. But thank you for honoring me still. Is she like you? Where did you meet her?”
    No, she is not like us. She is a Villa and all that the name implies. I met her in Washington; I was