by Aleida March
The family was becoming quite large. We now had Hildita, Aliucha and Camilo, and two more children would arrive. We had the sense of creating our own little world, admittedly a rather unusual home, but nevertheless, an intimate refuge we shared with friends and family. We established the semblance of a routine that continued when we moved house yet again. But I had a sense of foreboding that this might be our last home together. And so it was.
The new house was in Nuevo Vedado, on 47th Street, between Conill and Tulipan. I chose it, Che agreeing rather reluctantly. I wanted a home separate from the garrison, somewhere I could be a bit more independent and not feel like I was always living in a barracks. We needed more time alone in our own home, when we weren’t meeting our many commitments and responsibilities.
The security garrison moved next to the house, a short distance away. I now assumed the tasks of cooking, cleaning and other domestic duties, with the help of family and friends. Some members of the garrison, always regarded as part of the family, were a wonderful help. Rafael Hernández Calero (Felo) and Misael Fernández were pillars on whom I could lean, especially after Che’s death. They were honest campesinos, a great comfort to the children, especially in the vacuum left by the absence of their father. Sofia Gato joined our household to help me with Aliucha, and she, too, became a member of the family. Of course, in mentioning members of our household,
I can’t leave out the famous Muralla, our loyal dog, about whom many legendary tales are told. He was given to me by a soldier in Che’s column when we lived in Ciudad Libertad. He appears in many of the photos taken at that time.
Other lasting friends from those years are Harry Villegas, Alberto Castellanos, and Leonardo Tamayo. Another dear friend, Hermes Pena, a faithful compañero, was killed in Salta, Argentina, in the effort to extend the liberation of the Americas. There were others, like Carlos Coello (Tuma), who later went with Che on the missions to the Congo and Bolivia (where he was killed in combat); Felipe Hernández (Chino), also killed in Bolivia; and our doctor Oscar Fernández Mell lived with us before he got married.
I think the decision to move into our own home certainly brought us closer together, even though I never entirely liked that new house. From that time, we lived like the rest of the population, eating whatever food was available with the ration booklet that everyone had. I mention this in particular because I have read references to us having two ration booklets or a double ration. This misconception probably arose from something Che once said as a joke.
I managed our domestic affairs myself. I paid the rent, which was 40 pesos per month, out of Che’s salary of 440 pesos. I did not receive a salary at the time. After Che left I received his salary; but as my children grew up and became independent, they gave up the benefit they received from the state. We generally lived according to the spirit of the revolution and Che’s austere lifestyle.
Our next two children were born in the new house. Celia was born on June 14, 1963, hot on the heels of Camilo, then only 13 months old. Ernesto was born on February 24, 1965, when Che was in Algeria, on the last trip he made as a representative of the revolutionary government.
When he heard the news of the birth of his second son, he sent him a telegram, affectionately addressing the baby as “Tete,” the pet name his family had given him when he was a little boy:
Ernesto Guevara March
(to be handed to him at his home or at the clinic)
Havana
Tete,
Tell the old woman I will not be home for dinner. Tell her to be good.
Give your brother and sisters a kiss.
Your old man
Algiers, 24-2-65
In spite of all these separations, our relationship became even stronger. I was in charge of the family and our home, and although they were not perfect, they were mine. I never worried too much about what we lacked. I knew we lived like every other Cuban who knew that sacrifices had to be made. I had a partner who perhaps on the surface did not attend to the details, but he would not stand for any privileges. Che never bothered much about material things, and that is how we lived. We never wanted for friends or family. We combined everyday tasks with the enjoyment of the small informal pleasures. We lived a simple life together, full of love, dreams and hopes.
We even enjoyed our voluntary workdays together. Che made no distinction between his regular, daily work and his extra voluntary labor. On learning of Che’s death, Haydee Santamaria (an old friend and compañera) wrote a highly emotional letter addressed to Che, saying: “everything you created was perfect, but you made a unique creation, you made yourself, you showed how that new man was possible, we all saw how it could be a reality, because he exists, it was you.”5
He participated in evening sessions of voluntary work in various companies over the years, managing to meet the required number of hours of voluntary labor almost magically. To this day, many people are astounded about how he managed to do so much voluntary work, given all the other responsibilities he had. He especially enjoyed working in the sugar cane harvests, where the entire population was mobilized.
Che was often the butt of jokes because of his defective musical ear. Once, at the end of a day of voluntary work, they played the national anthem and we all stood up. A little while later the July 26 Movement anthem was played. Che rose to his feet again, asking why the national anthem was being repeated. He was unable to distinguish between the two tunes.
On Sundays, after voluntary work and an arduous week at the ministry, Che would come home ready to enjoy the company of his children. He would take off his shirt and play with the children on the floor. We would then have lunch, always joined by a guest or two, and we would tell anecdotes around the table. Che would occasionally enjoy a glass of wine mixed with water—an Argentine custom he never lost; this was one of the few pleasures he enjoyed.
During his last period in Cuba, after lunch he would take a bath and then, in the afternoon, would go to the ministry for meetings with the heads of various companies. He was probably already planning for his departure, and he felt the need to leave everything organized. He was establishing his Budgetary Finance System6 as an economic management system very different from how the economies in other socialist countries were run. Che rejected Marxism as a dogma, imbuing it with his own highly creative spirit.
Sometimes on Saturday nights, he liked to watch the boxing on television. Remembering this, I smile, because I could never understand how such a sensitive man enjoyed watching such a brutal sport. He would even pretend he was in the ring by throwing punches into the air while sitting in his chair. I never liked that sport—I hope all boxing fans will forgive me.
Che often worked in his office at home, which was on the more peaceful second floor. He enjoyed organizing that space, where he kept his most treasured books, most of them marked up with his notes or comments. This small room was his refuge. The books on the shelves reflected his wide range of interests, including universal literature and his favorite Latin American poets, like Pablo Neruda and César Vallejo. There are biographies, history, science, economy, general philosophy and, in particular, the classics of Marxist thought. There are also books on military strategy, essays on politics and sociology, chess handbooks and all kinds of other books. His notes in the books offer a fascinating glimpse into his mind.
He held private meetings in that office with compañeros from all over Latin America to discuss common dreams for the redemption of our continent. Its walls are silent witnesses to many plans reflecting the purest longings of a generation.
As Che’s trips became longer, his yearning for home became more acute. During one of his last trips, he made a brief stop in Paris. He sent me a postcard from the Louvre, a portrait of Lucrecia Crivelli painted by Leonardo de Vinci.7 On the back he wrote:
My darling,
I was dreaming of holding your hand in the Louvre, and here you are—a little chubby and serious, with a sad sort of smile (perhaps because no one loves you), waiting
for your lover who is far away. (Is it who I’m thinking of, or another?)
I let go of your hand to take a better look at you and to guess what is hidden in the generous breast. A boy? Yes?
Kisses and a huge hug for everyone and a special one for you,
From
Marshal Thu Che
He was in a very creative phase, the product of his years of experience in the revolution and his rigorous personal study program. This is reflected in his speeches and writings from this period, such as his speech in Geneva in March 1964 at the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development and the speech he gave at the UN General Assembly in December of that same year:
As an underdeveloped Latin American country, [Cuba] will support the main demands of its fraternal countries, and as a country under attack it will denounce from the very outset all the machinations set in train by the coercive apparatus of that imperial power, the United States of America.8
At the United Nations, he spoke plainly:
Cuba comes here to state its position on the most important points of controversy and will do so with the full sense of responsibility that the use of this rostrum implies, while at the same time fulfilling the unavoidable duty of speaking clearly and frankly.
We would like to see this assembly shake itself out of its complacency and move forward. We would like to see the committees begin their work and not stop at the first confrontation. Imperialism wants to turn this meeting into a pointless oratorical tournament, instead of solving the serious problems of the world. We must prevent it from doing so. This session of the assembly should not be remembered in the future solely by the number 19 that identifies it. Our efforts are directed to that end.9
Che was renowned for his strict adherence to revolutionary ethics. In his many trips abroad, his hosts would often give him gifts, sometimes very valuable gifts. He would always give these gifts away to others. This never bothered me, even when the gifts were supposed to be for me as his wife. Instead, he would bring me some exotic piece of fabric or some other object or handicraft from the countries he visited. I still have many of those simple treasures.
Once he gave away a color television that I was sent, at the time when they were almost unattainable. He gave it to a worker within his ministry. At other times, he would share what he received. After a visit to Algeria, for example, he received a barrel of excellent wine. When he got home he told me he was going to distribute it among the soldiers of the garrison next door to our house. I didn’t always obey his orders, and I didn’t on that occasion. Wine was one of his few pleasures in life, so I put away a few liters of that wine for our household. I don’t regret this.
I remember he once sent Fidel some peaches and dates that he had been given because he knew that Fidel had a weakness for them. On the few occasions when he bought me a modest gift, he argued that one should never use the state’s money for personal things. But he never failed to send us postcards from the various countries he visited. On one of his last trips, before he left for the Congo in 1965, he wrote to me telling me that, from whatever country he found himself in, he would buy me something, but it wouldn’t be the ring with a precious stone he had promised on a previous occasion:
My darling,
This might be my last letter for some time. I am thinking of you and of the little parts of my flesh I’ve left behind. This job gives me a lot of time for reflection, in spite of everything.
I won’t send you the ring because I don’t think it’s appropriate to spend money on that, especially now that we need the money. But I will send you something from my destination.
For the moment, I send you passionate kisses capable of melting your cold heart, and you can divide one kiss into little pieces for the children. Give the in-laws my regards, as well as the rest of the family. To the newlyweds [my niece] I send hugs, and the recommendation that they name the first child Ramón.10
In the tropical nights I will be returning to my old and badly executed trade as a poet (not so much in composition but at least in my mind), and you will be the only protagonist.
Don’t give up your studies. Work hard and remember me now and then.
A final one, passionate, with no rhetoric, from your
Ramón
When he returned he told me he had thought about buying the ring, but couldn’t bring himself to spend money that was not his to spend. Instead, when he left for the Congo, he left me his watch, which had a great sentimental value.
As previously explained, from early on Che resisted all suggestions (even from Fidel) that I join him on his trips. He always argued it was a privilege he would not accept. Sometimes I would have to go to Fidel’s office on 11th street to speak to Che on the phone when he was overseas. He only accepted this arrangement because it was Fidel’s suggestion.
These two men had a truly unique relationship. There were times when they did not share the same opinion about something. On those occasions they would argue for hours (or days), finally coming to some kind of agreement. They were like two parts of a whole. A boundless trust existed between them, something Che expressed in his farewell letter to Fidel when he left for the Congo. He said he had felt proud at being part of the Cuban people and to be led by a man of Fidel’s stature.
I knew Che had big plans, part of a bigger objective, that had taken root in his mind many years before—from the time when, as an adolescent, he had set out on a motorbike with his friend Alberto Granado to see and experience the misery and injustice of our continent.11 In Cuba, he said, he had found his true vocation. On leaving, he wrote: “I leave here [in Cuba] the purest of my hopes as a builder and the dearest of my loved ones.”
Che was aware that Cuba had managed to build an authentic revolution with great effort and much perseverance; moreover, he saw that in Fidel, the Cuban people had a leader who was loved and admired. Che decided to become part of the revolutionary movement that was emerging in the Third World fighting to create a more just and equal world. This decision matured in him as he became more familiar with the liberation movements in different parts of the world. Those movements knew they had Cuba’s unconditional support and in Che they found an enthusiastic collaborator.
He saw many valuable leaders being killed in combat, and believed that only with the effective participation of experienced combatants could those liberation movements be victorious. He also believed direct example was crucial and he was prepared to “risk his own skin,” as he put it. Those of us who knew him well understood he would not be diverted from this course, although we argued he should wait until conditions were better prepared.
He focused on this broader objective of the liberation of the Third World in his speech in Algeria in February 1965:
It is not by accident that our [Cuban] delegation is permitted to give its opinion here, in the circle of the peoples of Asia and Africa. A common aspiration unites us in our march toward the future: the defeat of imperialism. A common past of struggle against the same enemy has united us along the road...
It is imperative to take political power and to get rid of the oppressor classes. But then the second stage of the struggle, which may be even more difficult than the first, must be faced...
We must fight against imperialism. Each time a country is torn away from the imperialist tree, it is not only a partial battle won against the main enemy but it also contributes to the real weakening of that enemy, and is one more step toward the final victory.12
He decided to go to the Congo, Africa, first.13 He had closely followed political developments in Africa, and planned to stay there as long as necessary. He would then return to Latin America to fulfill his long-held dream of achieving the liberation of that continent.
I knew and accepted the enormous risks involved in this, motivated as he was by his sense of duty and also his desire to progress toward his ultimate goal. On a personal level, however, I realized nothing would ever be the same again for us. We spoke about how I could join him when the children
would not be so affected by our absence. I held onto the idea that I would follow him as soon as possible. But he argued I had to stay with the children to provide the love, care and guidance that only I could offer them. I had to acknowledge that he was right.
Despite his attempts to calm my fears, I was still shocked when Che told me of his decision to go to the Congo. One Sunday morning, he didn’t go to his voluntary work as he usually did. Instead he stayed at home and we took photographs with the children on the balcony of our house. I didn’t think anything of this, because we didn’t yet have any photos of our baby son Ernesto, who had been born while Che was in Algeria.
Then he told me he had booked a house at the beach, something he had never done before. But our beach holiday at Bocaciega became a sad memory for me. When the children were in bed and we were alone, he told me he would be leaving soon. I felt as if the world was about to end.
After he left, I’m not entirely sure when, but it might have been the day Fidel publicly announced Che’s farewell letter,14 Vilma came to the house to give me some letters he had written to the children and to his parents. There was another envelope simply addressed, “Only for you,” containing tape recordings of him reading some of the poems we had shared in our intimate moments.
By leaving me those tapes, he wrote, he was leaving the best part of himself, assuring me I was part of his world forever. I just can’t describe my feelings when I heard his voice reciting “our poems,” poems such as Pablo Neruda’s “Adios: Veinte poemas del amor;” “La sangre numerosa,” “El abuelo” by Nicolás Guillén; and “La pupila insomne” by Rubén Martínez Villena. I cried uncontrollably, unable to stop. They were tears of joy, but at the same time I was conscious of a gigantic abyss opening inside me.
I have listened to those tapes many times over the years and they always distress me. I always ask myself the same question: Should I have gone with him? As it was, there was nothing I could do but wait, try to maintain my optimism and watch our children grow and thrive. They were truly the fruits of a great love, of our love.