Remembering Che

by Aleida March

  On some nights, when we weren’t too tired, we watched movies—usually westerns, because that’s what everyone liked. Those gatherings were often marred by the presence of hundreds of little frogs. I have always had an irrational fear of frogs. One time, one of them landed on my leg and Vilo Acuna (Joaquín) heroically came to my aid. It is strange how in extreme circumstances, we can overcome our fears. During my time as a guerrilla in the Escambray Mountains and in the actual training sessions at Pinar del Río, I was never bothered by those little animals.

  A select group of compañeros came to visit at the farm. I remember Armando Hart sitting at the dinner table with Che for hours, discussing philosophy or arguing about Sigmund Freud’s theories. These discussions were prompted by Che’s letter to Armando (Minister for Education) in December 1965, in which he outlined a study guide on Marxism:

  My dear secretary,

  My congratulations for the opportunity they have given you to be God: you have six days.9

  Before you finish and sit down to rest (unless you choose the wise road of the God before you, who rested earlier), I want to propose a few small ideas about developing the culture of our vanguard and our people in general.

  In this long vacation period I have had my nose buried in philosophy, something I have wanted to do for some time. I came across the first problem: nothing is published in Cuba, if we exclude the hefty Soviet manuals, which have the drawback of not allowing you to think for yourself, because the party has already done it for you, and you just have to digest it. In terms of methodology, it is as anti-Marxist as can be and, moreover, the books tend to be very bad.

  Second, and no less important, was my ignorance of philosophical language (I fought hard with Master Hegel, and in the first round bit the dust twice). So I made a study plan for myself, which I think could be looked at and improved a lot, but it might constitute the basis for a real school of thought. We have achieved a lot, but someday we will have to think for ourselves. My idea is a reading plan, naturally, but it could be expanded to bringing our serious works into the party publishing house.

  [...]

  This is a gigantic job, but Cuba deserves it, and I think it can be attempted. I won’t bother you any further with this chatter. I’ve written to you because I don’t know much about the people who are presently responsible for ideological work and it may not be prudent to write to them, for other reasons (not just ideological parrotry, which also counts).

  Okay, illustrious colleague (in the philosophical sense), I wish you success. I hope we can meet on the seventh day. A hug to the huggables, including one from me to your dear and feisty better half.10

  R.11

  The days of preparing for Bolivia were coming to an end, and this time I resisted Che’s departure less, perhaps because I had participated in some of the activities and also because I imagined a reunion would not be too far off. I expected a long struggle, and I thought we might face five years of separation, but I firmly believed we would be reunited again. That is how I thought when Che left for Bolivia in October 1966.

  Over the years, I have always dreaded the advent of the month of October because for Cubans, and for me in particular, this month does not bring good memories, and to describe my feelings is almost impossible.

  When everything was ready for Bolivia, I asked, as I had done when he left for the Congo, if he should not stay for another year to complete some tasks that he had previously been assigned. But nothing would detain him. He was convinced that the pillars of the Cuban revolution were strong and he didn’t believe his presence in Cuba was essential. In Latin America, however, he saw there was much to be done, and he was eager to contribute to eliminating the evils that had prevailed there for centuries.

  A few days before Che’s departure, with him now transformed into the old man “Ramón,” we went to a safe house in Havana, where he asked to see the children. It had to be that way because he feared that our older children might tell someone if they recognized him, and this could be a serious problem.

  When the children arrived, I introduced them to a man I said was a Uruguayan friend of their father and who wanted to meet them. They could never have imagined that this man, who looked as though he was in his 60s, was their father. It was a difficult moment for us both, especially painful for Che because he loved his children but could not say much or treat them in the way he wanted to. This was one of the hardest tests he ever had to undergo.

  For the children, it was a most enjoyable day. They played and did their best to amuse their father’s friend. They wanted to show him all the clever things they could do, even playing the piano for him, although it sounded more like banging to me. While she was running about, Aleidita, the eldest, hit her head, and Che went over to tend to her. He treated her so tenderly that, a little while later, she came up to me to tell me a secret: “Mommy, that man is in love with me!” Che heard her whisper to me. Neither of us could speak; we just became pale, overwhelmed by emotion.

  He left for the airport from that house. He traveled first to Europe and then proceeded to his final destination, La Paz, Bolivia. Before he left, he wrote me a poem that I was told he wanted to write on a white handkerchief, but he couldn’t find one. The important thing is this time he did not tear up his poem, and he finally finished what he had long promised me. I hardly need to say I treasure this poem as one of the most cherished mementos Che left me. The final stanza reads:

  Farewell, my only one,

  do not tremble before the hungry wolves

  nor in the cold steppes of absence;

  I take you with me in my heart

  and we will continue together until the road vanishes...

  I wondered if we would experience yet another cycle of separation and reunion. I cried so much on the way home. I remember that I looked over some articles of clothing of Eliseo Reyes (Rolando) with the aim of removing any tags that could identify him as Cuban in preparing for his departure for Bolivia. I was searching for anything to do to ease my anguish. I had to get on and face life until I heard any news.

  Once again there was uncertainty. News from Bolivia always came through a third person. The only letter I received was via the Peruvian Juan Pablo Chang (Chino), after his visit to the Ñancahuasú camp on December 2, 1966, and before he joined the guerrilla unit:

  To my only one,

  I take advantage of a friend’s trip to send you these words. They could be posted, but it is more intimate to use the “unofficial” route. I could say that I miss you to the point where I can no longer sleep, but I know you wouldn’t believe me, so I won’t tell you that. There are days when I feel so homesick, it takes a complete hold over me. Especially at Christmas and New Year, you can’t imagine how much I miss your ritual tears, under a star-filled sky that reminds me how little I have taken from life in a personal sense [...].

  I can say nothing interesting about my life here. I like the work but it is tiring and excludes all else. I study when I have time, and occasionally I dream. I play chess with no serious opponents and I walk a great deal. I am losing weight, partly from longing, and partly from the work.

  Give a kiss to the little pieces of my flesh and blood and to the others. For you, a kiss filled with sighs and sorrow from your poor, bald

  Husband

  In general, that was the tone of his correspondence, which was infrequent and offering few details, although he was usually optimistic about the prospects of the ELN (the National Liberation Army of Bolivia). In a way he was right to be optimistic; I later heard about the courageous actions they had carried out as a small group of combatants facing a better-equipped army with more men. It was this optimism that never allowed me to contemplate the final outcome.

  Meanwhile, my life carried on as usual; the security garrison was now smaller, but was still next door to our house. Occasionally, Fidel would become worried about us and pay us a visit, always mindful of our needs. In fact, when Che wrote his “Message to the Tricontinental,” Fidel b
rought the document to my house to tell me what he thought of it. This was not really necessary, but that is how Fidel was with everything concerning Che. He never failed to update me on the progress of the guerrilla movement in Bolivia.

  My commitments had changed somewhat. Before leaving for Bolivia, Che urged me to enroll at the university to study history, which I did in November 1966, and I must admit that he was not wrong. This proved to be a wise decision because I now used part of my time to study, clinging to it almost as a shipwrecked sailor clutches at his salvation.

  I made a big effort, and took advantage of the opportunity I was presented with. I was studying with younger people, with the exception of María Luisa Rodríguez, who was older than me, and she became my study partner. She was very organized and capable; she was also the head of her household and didn’t want to stay at home. Despite her wealthy background and her privileged life, she responded like all Cuban women did to the demands of the times.

  I studied with enthusiasm and tried to adapt myself to a study routine. Compared to the other students, I had far more life experience, but it was difficult for me to concentrate on my studies. My classmates and teachers helped me, showing me great kindness in a situation new to me. I was grateful to Che for encouraging me to step into a very different world and out of the isolation of my own little world.

  The month of October came around again. I heard the terrible news from Fidel. He waited until the report from Bolivia had been verified. At the time, I was involved in some important research work in the Escambray Mountains as a history student.

  Celia Sánchez traveled to Santa Clara, and from the airport she organized for me to be picked up and taken directly to Havana, where Fidel was waiting for me. He took me to his house, where I stayed on my own for one week. I then went to stay in another house for a while with my children. Fidel visited us every day. I can never forget the kindness and dedication he showed us during those days. He gave us so much of his time and helped to ease our pain. Appreciating his tenderness, I was aware that he, too, was deeply mourning the irreparable loss that Che’s passing represented.

  Since that time, in spite of the fact I don’t see Fidel regularly because of the immense responsibilities he has borne, nothing has ever marred our mutual affection and the solid basis of our friendship. Everyone acknowledges the debt we Cubans owe him, but my debt is far greater on a personal level.

  On October 18, 1967, a solemn vigil for Che was held in Revolution Plaza. Fidel was the only speaker. He asked me to be there, but I told him I didn’t have the strength to behave with the composure demanded of me in such a ceremony. I told him I would stay at home, watching the event on television, surrounded by my children, although they were not yet aware of what had happened.

  The vigil in the plaza was a moving event for our people. I had never seen so much sadness reflected in the faces of the men and women, who came to the plaza in absolute silence to pay homage to the legendary guerrilla, the brother they had always felt was one of their own.

  I returned to my own home in November, accompanied by my offspring, who were noisy and restless and allowed me little time to become absorbed in my grief. I had to get on with life, I had things to do. But there were the inevitable moments when I would hear the verses of the poem he had written for me:

  My only one in the world:

  I secretly extracted from Hickmet’s poems this sole romantic verse, to leave you with the exact dimension of my affection.

  Nevertheless,

  in the deepest labyrinth of the taciturn shell,

  the poles of my spirit are united and repelled:

  You and EVERYONE.

  Everyone demands complete devotion from me

  so that my lonely shadow fades on the road.

  But, without ridiculing the rules of sublime love,

  I hide you in my saddlebags.

  (I carry you in my insatiable saddlebags, like our daily bread.)

  I leave to build the springs of blood and mortar

  and I leave in the vacuum of my absence

  this kiss with no fixed address.

  But the reserved seat was not assured

  in the triumphant march of victory,

  and the path that guides my travels

  is overcast by ominous shadows.

  If my destiny is an obscure seat of honor in the foundations,

  just place it in the hazy archive of your memory,

  to use during nights of tears and dreams...

  Farewell, my only one,

  do not tremble before the hungry wolves

  nor in the cold steppes of absence;

  I take you with me in my heart

  and we will continue together until the road vanishes...

  Che and Aleida during a trip around the Cuban provinces, 1959.

  Aleida and Che organizing their office in their Nuevo Vedado home, 1963.

  With Camilo, Che and Aleida’s first-born son.

  At the wedding of Aleida’s niece Miriam Moya March, 1965.

  With Ernestico (Ernestio) their second son, in 1965.

  With Celia, their third child, in 1964.

  February 1965, with the newborn Ernesto.

  With Fidel at a 1965 ceremony in Revolution Plaza.

  Almendares Park, December 1964. Left to right: Camilo, Celia, Aleida and Aleidita.

  March 1965, in front of their house in Nuevo Vedado, Havana, before Che left for the Congo. Children (from left): Ernesto, Camilo, Aleidita and Celia.

  July 1965. From left: Aleida and Ernesto, Camilo, Hildita (Che’s daughter with Hilda Gadea) and Aleidita.

  A postcard with a portrait of Lucrecia Crivelli, Che sent to Aleida from the Louvre Museum, Paris, in 1965.

  This 1965 family photo was sent to Che in the Congo.

  Aleida with Fidel and Rosa E. Navarro at the end of 1965 at Turquino Peak, in the Sierra Maestra mountains.

  Lunch at the home of Cuban Foreign Minister Raúl Roa (left).

  January 1966: Aleida and Che disguised as Josefina and Romón, during their meeting in Tanzania after Che had been in the Cango, Africa. (Photos taken by Che.)

  Aleida with Che in tanzania. (photo taken by Che.)

  Tanzania. (Photo taken by Che.)

  Aleida’s passport photo as Josefina González, January 1966.

  The children with Che disguised as “old uncle Ramón” in Havana, October 1966, before he left for Bolivia.

  Che, Aleida and their daughter Celia in San Andrés, Pinar del Río, 1966. (Photo taken by Che.)

  Aleida with Celia, 1966. (Photo taken by Che.)

  Che with Celia in San Andrés, Pinar del Río, 1966.

  A rest break during training for Bolivia in San Andrés, Pinar del Río, 1966. (Photo taken by Che.)

  With Che disguised as “old uncle Ramon” a few days before he left for Bolivia in 1966.

  Family photo taken by Korda in May 1965. Children (from left to right): Hildita (Che’s daughter with Hilda Gadea), Aleidita, Camilo, baby Ernesto and Celia.

  Aleida with the children, 1966.

  The children with their grandparents Juan and Eudoxia on Ernesto’s birthday, February 1968

  Aleida as a Cuban representative of the Inter-Parliamentary Group.

  The children with their grandmother Eudoxia (Aleida’s mother).

  Aleida with Fidel at Aleidita’s wedding.

  Aleida with her friend Ernestina Mazón, her daughter Aleidita and some of her grandchildren.

  Daughter Celia’s wedding.

  Che and Aleida in Santiago de las Vegas, Cuba, 1959.

  1. The Turkish poet Nazim Hickmet was one of Che’s favorite poets.

  2. Che’s short story, “The Stone,” is included as an appendix to this book.

  3. See Ernesto Che Guevara: Congo Diary. Episodes of the Revolutionary War in the Congo (Ocean Press, 2011).

  4. The United Party of Socialist Revolution (PURS) developed out of the Integrated Revolutionary Organizations (ORI). It was the forerunner of t
he Cuban Communist Party that was formed in 1965.

  5. For the full text of this letter, see Ernesto Che Guevara: Congo Diary. Episodes of the Revolutionary War in the Congo (Ocean Press, 2011).

  6. A reference to the fact that Che was expecting to return to Cuba.

  7. Che disguised himself as an older man and used a passport in the name of Ramón Benítez for his clandestine trip to Bolivia to initiate the guerrilla struggle in Latin America.

  8. Of all the Cubans who joined Che in Bolivia, only Harry Villegas and two others survived.

  9. Armando Hart had just been appointed organization secretary of the newly formed Cuban Communist Party.

  10. Haydee Santamaría was Armando Hart’s wife.

  11. The full text of this letter is included in Ernesto Che Guevara: Self-Portrait (Ocean Press, 2004).

  9

  After I returned home, my life continued, despite incredible difficulties. The images from that time are confused in my mind. The sad reality was that I felt the absence of the man who had been my first love and the one with whom I had shared the best and fullest moments of my life. I thought it would be impossible to overcome so much pain. But I was not alone, and I heard his voice ringing in my head: “Help me now Aleida, be strong...”