Read The Death of Che Guevara Online
Authors: Jay Cantor
The Death of Che Guevara (44 page)
I saw his point: it was a different sort of battle, a different sort of secrecy. I paused, thought. “Che,” I said.
“Sure. Right.” But Ponco had lost interest in that line of attack. He wanted me to read on.
Act One: Ernesto Guevara Smokes a Cigar with Fidel Castro
Scene: The house of Maria Antonia, a wealthy sympathizer of the 26th of July Movement, and of Fidel Castro, its leader. We are in the kitchen, a large room with a big stove. There is an ornate kitchen table of heavy dark carved wood. A big black iron pot of spaghetti sits in the middle of the table. Another pot
sits on the stove. There are dirty cups and dishes scattered on the table, and several handguns. A machete hangs from the back of one of the strong-looking chairs. Rifles lean against the stone walls, which have been painted a light-pink color. Seven or eight people occupy the room, some sitting in chairs pushed back from the table. One man stirs the pot, making the plot thicker. One, a blond man, squats by the wall, cleaning his rifle. A tall black man stands, combing his long hair out of a pompadour, parting it in the middle so it falls down the sides of his face. It is not clear from any of this activity if dinner is going on now, is just over, hasn’t begun yet, or was over long ago.
There is a large window right behind the kitchen table.
A lull in the conversation. An air of expectancy.
[Fidel Castro enters. He is thirty years old, light-complexioned; six two; solidly built. He has shiny, wavy black hair and a mustache. He is assured and graceful in his movements. A hush falls as he enters.]
“How can a hush fall?” I asked. “You just said there was a lull in the conversation.”
For a moment the quick man didn’t reply. He looked as Neruda must when he has been drinking and someone corrects his grammar. “It felt that way.” He leaned back from my shoulder.
“You weren’t there,” I said, responding to the mockery. “Not that I remember, anyway. What do you mean it felt that way?”
“I
was
there.” Ponco leaned forward again, pointing to the page on the table.
“There
there.”
“Ah.”
“Besides, the story needed it.”
“Yes,” I said. “We know about
that.”
“I’ll change it. ‘A deeper hush fell.’ Or: ‘Within the silence the heart of the silence was revealed. The intake of breath. Hands suddenly still.’ All right?”
His voice, I thought, sounded younger: faster shifts within that sliding gravel and dirt. This writing, I realized, was the new activity he’d found, the substitute for reading too many stories. (Perhaps mimicking my prose style had released a voice in him.) I read on:
[Castro crosses the room and stands at the head of the table. Every face follows him. He is brought a plate of spaghetti by the tall black man whose hair comes down to his shoulders.]
C
ASTRO
: My favorite!
N
ICO
: Welcome home, boss! Now I can get my hair cut!
C
ASTRO:
Y
OU
look good, Nico! Strange, but good. (They give each other big hugs and kisses on the cheek. All of the other men come over and hug him.)
[Castro sits at the head of the table in a big wooden chair. He eats the spaghetti in a few seconds, as if he had inhaled it]
N
ICO
[pointing at Castro admiringly]:
This
blanco
eats like a
negro! [All laugh.]
C
ASTRO
: Well, I haven’t had any spaghetti in a long time!
[He is brought another plate, and he eats and talks at the same time.]
Listen! Have you continued our propaganda work?
R
ICARDO
(a tall thin man with a severe lined face): Yes. Ten thousand copies of the
Manifesto
have been sent to the underground in Cuba. By the way, I can read it now!
C
ASTRO
: Congratulations, Ricardo!
R
ICARDO
: Thanks. It is due to the efforts of a man called Ernesto Guevara, a doctor. He killed a mercenary in Guatemala. He is our kind of guy. Nico will tell you all about him, until you beg him to stop.
N
ICO
: He is very courageous, Fidel. He has his own ideas. You’ll like him, Fidel. I like him, Fidel.
C
ASTRO
: Nico, don’t use my name so much. It loses all meaning. I feel like I’m floating away. I don’t know who
I
am. It’s like saying “spoon” over and over. But I’m the spoon!
[Nico says “spoon” over and over while everyone listens.]
N
ICO
: I don’t get it?
[He turns to the others.]
What does he mean, he’s a spoon?
[The others all turn away from Nico and towards Castro.]
C
ASTRO
: Never mind, Nico. We must see to it that another ten thousand copies of
History Will Absolve Me
are printed up for Pais in Santiago. I am more sure than ever, comrades, that ceaseless propaganda work is the heart of the revolution. Propaganda of words, soon to be matched by propaganda of deeds! Ricardo, now that you read and write, take a note for Pais. “Dear Frank: Show guile and smiles to everybody. Don’t be so abrasive with the other parties. We must unite all who will be united and neutralize the rest. Follow the same course we followed during the trial: defend our point of view without wounding others. We will have time later on to trample underfoot all the cockroaches. Accept all sorts of help. But remember, trust no one. Signed, Fidel.” Read that back to me.
[Ricardo has been sitting in a chair next to Fidel, with his hands on his legs. He has stared at Castro during the preceding speech without moving.]
R
ICARDO
: Signed, Fidel.
C
ASTRO
: Thank you, Ricardo.
[With evident sarcasm]
With such men how can I fail!
R
ICARDO:
Y
OU
give Frank good advice, Fidel. But maybe you should say more about what our point of view is.
C
ASTRO
: Our point of view is: We will unite all who will be united. Our duty is to social justice alone. All will save themselves if they save their principles. From the deepest dregs of corruption will come, more purified and clean, the ideal redeemer. Sacrifice is now our only duty.
N
ICO
[heartfelt]:
Thank you, boss! I understand.
[He bows his head.]
C
ASTRO
[pats Nico’s head and puts a strand of spaghetti in Nico’s mouth]:
Good, Nico. Remember: we will unite all who will be united.
R
ICARDO
: But shouldn’t we say a word or two more about what we are uniting for? More about our principles. About our goals.
C
ASTRO
[exasperated]:
I liked you better before you knew how to read and write!
N
ICO
: I understand, Fidel! We will re-establish the Constitution of 1940!
F
ELIPE
[the blond man who leans against the wall, cleaning his gun]:
We will get rid of the North Americans!
J
ESUS
: We will build a socialist state in Cuba!
[They all look to Castro.]
C
ASTRO
: We will unite all who will be united!
J
UAN
: We will link ourselves more strongly with the liberal values of the United States, our shared concern for the individual!
M
ARCOS
: We will realize the dreams of Marti!
A
LMEIDA
: We will realize the dreams of Chibas!
F
ELIPE
: We will realize the dreams of Lenin!
N
ICO
: We will realize the dreams of Thomas Jefferson!
F
AUSTINO
: We will realize the Moncada Manifesto!
[Each grows visibly uneasy as he hears the others shout. Each looks about from face to face angrily and then with growing bafflement, exchanging hostile and bewildered looks with the others. Then, like plants slowly bending towards the light, they resolutely look away from one another, and towards Fidel, the sun in the people’s sky.]
C
ASTRO
: We will untie all who will be untied!
[The others start to nod, and then their gestures of agreement halt, grow confused. Marcos’s hands, extended with palms up and fingers open, are suddenly palsied. Felipe’s arm is half raised in a clenched fist. He looks up at it, realizes it is the wrong arm, and slowly withdraws it]
C
ASTRO
[senses the confusion in their gestures, the hesitations and secret
thoughts they express by the movements of their bodies, the looks on their faces, the unspoken words of their hands, and gives it voice, resolving that jangle]:
I goofed! We will unite all who will be united!
R
ICARDO
[looking towards the floor]:
Sounds like “spoon” to me.
Something nagged at me. “Resolving that jangle”! Were those my collaborator’s words or my own? Had Walter sneaked into my room?
Before I could ask him, Walter pointed towards that part of the page, and smiled. “I’m making fun of myself,” he said.
Of himself? It was the part he had written for
me
yesterday!
“Read on!”
And, imagining that might solve these mysteries, I did:
Scene Two: Same room, many plates of spaghetti later. Two men lie on the floor snoring, one man has his head on the other’s chest. One man is passed out across his arms on the table. Castro is dictating more instructions to Ricardo, who now takes them down, with great difficulty, on some paper.
Raul Castro enters, with Che Guevara, a young unkempt doctor, his pants held up by a rope, his leather jacket in shreds.
Ernesto looks about himself warily. He trusts no one. He takes in the room, and stares at the men eating spaghetti and talking.
G
UEVARA
: I feel like I’m in a play.
T
RAVIS
T
ULIO’S VOICE
[from off stage]:
You are!
“Do you think that’s corny?” the real voice of Travis Tulio asked from behind me.
“Yes,” I said. I found I was indifferent to Walter’s feelings, the “Travis.” “It’s ridiculous. It’s terrible. It’s stupid. It serves no purpose.” Not, frankly, that I could see the purpose of the rest.
“I’ll cut it,” he said decisively, apparently unhurt and steeled to the awful act. He reached over and drew a thick pencil line through that section.
[Raul Castro enters with Ernesto Guevara. Castro stares long and meaningfully at Guevara.]
C
ASTRO
: Come. Sit by me. Have a plate of spaghetti. I have been waiting a long time for you!
[There is a note of mystery to Castro’s voice; fortunes told. He sounds like Che’s mother.]
G
UEVARA
[as if mesmerized, walks towards the table]:
You have?
C
ASTRO
: Yes. Since I first heard of you, I had the feeling that we would have a lot to say to each other, a lot to do with each other, a lot to accomplish. You understand?
G
UEVARA
[clearly baffled]:
No. I don’t think so.
C
ASTRO
: Have a plate of spaghetti.
[Guevara, still mesmerized, sits by Castro.]
Good. I heard about your argument with Paz Estenssoro, the MNR leader. You were right! He is a traitor to his people. You were entirely correct in telling him off. A man who has the courage to do that is someone I could work with!
G
UEVARA
[increasingly baffled, and looking as if the perplexity is causing him some pain]:
You did? He is? I am?
C
ASTRO
: Yes. Sartre thought very highly of what you said.
G
UEVARA
: He did?
C
ASTRO
[examining Guevara quizzically, as if he were a store dummy]:
Are you all right? Of course he didn’t. I don’t know Sartre!
[Castro smiles broadly.]
Let me say this from the beginning.
[His face becomes serious, and he leans towards Guevara.]
I have nothing to offer you but constant struggle, unending struggle. We will keep the spirit of the Moncada burning with an armed struggle. It will raise up the Cuban masses. It will show them that a real struggle is possible now. Propaganda of the deed. There will be a revolution in Cuba from top to bottom. Is that your cup of tea?
G
UEVARA
[His body stiffens; he snaps his fingers in front of his eyes, ending his period of hypnosis.]:
And the North Americans?
C
ASTRO
: Don’t worry about that. I am all the names of rebellion in history. I am Mussolini, Marx, Hitler, Lenin, Napoleon, Julius Caesar. I am one with the world-historical process. I am married only to the Revolution.
G
UEVARA
[no longer baffled, and growing increasingly angry]:
And the North Americans?!
C
ASTRO
: The North Americans! The North Americans! You’re just like Raul! You both talk of nothing else! You’re obsessed with the big whale, the North Americans! Listen: We will unite all who will be united to make the revolution! Now is the hour of the furnaces and only light should be seen!
G
UEVARA
[shouting]:
And the North Americans?
C
ASTRO
: All right, damn you. If they won’t cooperate, I’ll throw them off the island! There! Is that all right with you? You have my word!
G
UEVARA
[extending his hand]:
They won’t cooperate! I will join you!
C
ASTRO
: Good! Have a cigar! They’re helpful for asthma.
[He hands a cigar to Guevara, who is unfamiliar with the object and holds it at a meter’s length. He watches Castro, to see how it is disarmed, and duplicates his movements. Both men light up.]
Curtain for Act One of
AN HISTORIC MEETING,
A Play by Travis Tulio