The first thing I did when I met Che was explain why I had come to the guerrillas’ camp. He responded to my request for help in removing the adhesive tape with which the package was strapped to my waist by asking some of his men to assist me. I noticed, in an instant there were quite a few eager volunteers. Of course, I immediately handed over the 50,000 pesos I had brought. Oscar Fernández Mell (the doctor) was chosen to assist me and attend to my wounds. But that was not the end of my embarrassment. I had also torn my trousers when I mounted my horse. So Oscarito gave me a needle and thread to sew up my trousers in order to meet the leader with a bit more dignity.
Later that night, I was shown where I could sleep—a hammock I thought looked wonderful as I was so tired. But I couldn’t sleep. I heard voices, and my curiosity got the better of me. I couldn’t resist getting up to observe Che speaking to a compañero, whom I later learned was Sidroc Ramos. Ramos was a member of Che’s column, but in the darkness I thought he was a Russian, confirming, in my political ignorance, that Che was indeed a communist. At the time, there were many compañeros in our movement with limited political education who held strong prejudices against communism. I was no exception.
I stayed in the camp for three or four days waiting to leave. I was constantly pestered by various guerrillas trying to chat me up. Nevertheless, my memories of this first contact with the Rebel Army are happy. I struck up friendships with some compañeros who have remained dear friends, through good times and bad, throughout all these years. One of them, now General Rogelio Acevedo, I thought looked like a young girl the first time I saw him. He had long, blonde hair that blew in the wind; I remember plaiting his hair. I also met Vaquerito (“Little Cowboy,” Roberto Rodríguez), an amiable and brave young man, who loved to tell stories that made us laugh. There was also Harry Villegas, for whom I have always had a great affection, and many others, who became heroes or martyrs in our struggle.
I felt a bit insecure, having spent so much time as an underground activist. Now, even though I was an experienced combatant, in the mountains I was just another insignificant person expected to follow orders. As it was, I could no longer remain in the city, one of the reasons I had been sent to the Escambray. My new challenge was to become a soldier, at least that was my intention. I planned to propose this to Che when we met to discuss my future.
I met with him one evening and we talked about this. He proposed I stay on in the camp as a nurse. Newcomers were always given a specific task as he didn’t allow anyone to just “float.” I responded bluntly, explaining that I thought my two years of clandestine work gave me the right to be incorporated into the guerrilla unit. He didn’t agree and, as a compromise, said I should return to the city to complete some other important assignments, such as the collection of taxes from the sugar growers.
I went to the nearby town of Placetas, where I was greeted by the co-coordinator of the movement. He suggested I return to the guerrilla camp immediately because a warrant for my arrest had been issued. In my role as the point of contact with the movement leaders in the province, I had information that was extremely sensitive and very useful to the enemy. That was the main reason I returned to the Escambray.
I was in Placetas for about 10 days, waiting for the person who would take me back to Che’s camp. I was impatient, not only because I was staying with people I didn’t know, whom I might be putting at risk, but also because I wanted to join my compañeros in the struggle.
Years later, Che confessed that, at the time, he thought I had been sent by the leadership of the movement in Las Villas (largely made up of right-wing people), to monitor him because of his reputation as a communist. That was why he was reluctant to let me join the guerrilla unit; moreover, he was unaware that I couldn’t return to the city.
After the town of Fomento was captured on December 18, I returned to the mountains. I met with Bordón, who gave me a gun. Someone was sent to retrieve some of my clothes and some toiletries from my home; it was then that I bumped into Fernández Mell and Alberto Castellanos, whom I persuaded to support my decision to stay in the camp. Everyone agreed, except Che.
Che later ordered Olo Pantoja to take me to El Pedrero. I was visibly annoyed and sat in the doorway of one of the local houses, which I later learned was called Manaquitas. After a little while, Ernestina Mazón approached me. She was a nurse, who had gone to the Escambray in October, along with a group of technicians, doctors and other nurses, all members of the July 26 Movement in Santa Clara.
My bad mood was such that I didn’t go to bed that night. Everyone tried to find me a job, but I didn’t want to do any of those offered. To make matters worse, a compañero was annoying me by confessing his romantic interest in me. This made my situation even more difficult and I wanted to escape from this. I could always count on my compañeros, like my friend Ernestina, who knew I had won the right to be integrated as a combatant in the guerrilla troop.
The July 26 Movement announced the formation of a provisional government in Fomento. One day soon after that, Che turned up in El Pedrero at around dawn, and from that moment our common story begins.
I was sitting in the street holding my travel bag on my knees when Che passed by in a jeep and invited me to come along with him “to shoot a few rounds.” Without a second thought, I accepted and jumped into his jeep. And that was it. In a way, I never again got out of that jeep.
In any case, we really never had time to stop and think what might happen. Che was at the wheel and I jumped in beside him, instinctively sitting close to him, seeking his protection. At that time, I saw him as someone much older than I, who would protect me from the advances of other compañeros. There were some incidents, such as the time three men were sitting behind me in the back of the jeep. I should say those three men (Harry Villegas, Alberto Castellanos and Jesus Parra) have remained among my closest friends. One of them—I don’t know who—touched my back as a bit of a joke; I reacted so violently they never attempted to touch me again.
After Che’s spontaneous invitation, there was no time to think about what this might mean on a personal level. I was committed to a cause I was confident would win. There were difficult and memorable moments, and there were also very painful times, but I remained optimistic and confident in the future. In spite of everything, I was blissfully happy at that time.