By Katiuska Blanco<\/p>\n\n\n\n
1956. The wooden planks creak indiscreetly at this hour of the night, where the slightest noise becomes a damned betrayal and threatens to ruin everything in the blink of an eye. The planks, from swallowing so much seawater, are rotten, and the nails, from so much gripping the salty wood, are rusted. This makes the narrow, makeshift strip over the river threaten to unravel with every step. The rain and fog turn the pier into a tightrope covered in grease, along which they have to transport the crates of telescopic rifles\u2014Garands, Mendozas, Johnsons, and Remingtons\u2014machine guns, and ammunition. Along this same wobbly passageway pass sacks of oranges, boxes of cookies, medicine, cigarettes, coffee, backpacks\u2026 The planks seem to buckle under the weight of the men\u2019s coming and going, from the house to the yacht, from the yacht to the house\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
From Mexico City, Juan Manuel M\u00e1rquez and one of the groups of revolutionaries travel by road to Tuxpan. Ramiro Vald\u00e9s is among them. Once in the city, they wait in a downtown motel until the hours tick by before meeting up with the others in a humble neighborhood of fishermen\u2019s houses, across the Pantepec River.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They efficiently and quickly unload the luggage and begin loading supplies and weapons. Juan Manuel thinks of his children. Camilo plots some mischief or whispers a joke. Almeida remembers the love he\u2019s leaving behind. Che thinks of Guatemala, the old folks, and Hildita. Efigenio thinks of Mel and Mar\u00eda de las Angustias. \u00d1ico thinks of afternoons at the Caf\u00e9 Soda Palace and of Vero, who returned to Havana and wishes she were here. Chuch\u00fa wonders if the last-minute repairs to the boat will be enough to get them there. Roque calculates, for the umpteenth time, always one more time, the yacht\u2019s course. Pedr\u00edn Soto thinks of his girlfriend. Ra\u00fal thinks of all these people. Fidel thinks that it\u2019s time to keep his word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ramiro, like everyone else, carries the boat again and again. He\u2019s not thinking about anything. He only listens to the clacking of the old planks beneath his feet. He should have something to think about, too. He has plenty of reasons for the trip; But his thoughts remain silent\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
1992. Along that same wooden path, three decades later, the experiences of the Commander of the Revolution return to the present. Now he is once again by the river, a few steps from where the makeshift dock rattled that early morning. Now he thinks intensely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The images, like a kaleidoscope, flash before him: his uncle returning from the sugar mill, he hears him mention the name Jes\u00fas Men\u00e9ndez, the newspaper always in his hands. His mother, reading by lamplight, admires C\u00e9spedes, G\u00f3mez, Mart\u00ed, and Maceo. She feels a profound devotion to history. Throughout the pseudo-republic, and especially during the 1950s, his hopes slipped away, leaving only disillusionment, frustration, skepticism, and a longing for the days of the Mamb\u00ed War as persistent feelings in his soul\u2014almost like incurable illnesses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The encounters with the neighborhood youth turned into political meetings. In the Orthodox Youth, he joined Ciro, Julito, Ponce, Pepe Su\u00e1rez\u2014among others\u2014and they launched a campaign against the candidates for representatives and senators in the 1952 elections, which they considered a farce. The early morning of March 10th brought the political struggle to a halt, exhausting the channels of representative democracy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
From the day Ramiro left his house with Pepe Ponce, under the pretext of traveling to the capital to promote the printing press\u2019s publications, events unfolded rapidly. It was a plausible explanation for their five-day absence. At that moment, they had no idea that the Moncada Barracks was their chosen destination, nor that July 26th was the exact date. The battle, the arrest, the trial, the imprisonment, the exile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The ticket indicated: destination M\u00e9rida.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ramiro never attached much importance to phone numbers, addresses, or dates. He always made a point of recording that information only as long as necessary and then deleting it permanently. He thought\u2014and still thinks\u2014that it\u2019s the most effective way to prepare for an interrogation because\u2014although you\u2019re not supposed to talk, by principle\u2014everything is easier if you have nothing to say. Because of this conviction, his time in Mexico is a jumble of streets and places without any real sequence in his memory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI traveled alone. From Cuba, I had written down the address of a hotel and a phone number that I was supposed to dial upon arriving in Mexico City. When I called, they gave me the address of Emparan 49. At Mar\u00eda Antonia Gonz\u00e1lez\u2019s house, I found<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI traveled alone. From Cuba, I had written down the address of a hotel and a phone number I was to dial upon arriving in Mexico City. When I contacted them, they gave me the address of Emparan 49. I found Ra\u00fal at Mar\u00eda Antonia Gonz\u00e1lez\u2019s house. When we weren\u2019t on a specific mission, Ciro, Julito, Ra\u00fal, and I lived together permanently. We always tried to stay together. We formed a core group from the prison, where the Abel Santamar\u00eda Academy operated, but our group had its own curriculum. We would get up at five in the morning to study all day until about midnight. It was a demanding schedule. We followed it together until Ra\u00fal was isolated and separated from us, just like Fidel. We continued without him, maintaining the same study rhythm.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At Camp Santa Rosa (that\u2019s what they called it for security reasons, but it was actually Rancho San Miguel), in Chalco, Guevara served as chief of staff and Ramiro as second in command.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cChe was surprised by his appointment and commented that others had more involvement. He was interested in learning how things had happened at Moncada. He and I had become close during target practice. It\u2019s true that some had reservations about him, but even they, he won over with his prestige, authority, and his already outstanding human and political qualities. Everyone knew about his health, his occasional asthma attacks. I admired seeing him feel unwell without ever saying, \u2018You do it.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTo learn to navigate by the North Star, we would climb mountains at night. I remember it was freezing and raining. Che, who was practically a mountaineer, led the hikes. We climbed tied to each other with ropes to avoid falling or getting lost in the dark. At the top, we would fire our weapons. We would return in the early hours of dawn. By six or seven in the morning at the latest, we would hide.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Batista dictatorship was relentless in its plans to assassinate Fidel. Confidences and rumors confirmed the plot. The details had to be analyzed like a chessboard, observing every move of the enemy pieces, anticipating the next step to neutralize the attack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ramiro was assigned to be among those who were to keep a close eye on Fidel. His shadow followed him to meetings, visits, and political activities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because of this special circumstance, they were arrested together as they left the building at Kepler and Copernicus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI saw two men coming toward me. I didn\u2019t notice anything unusual about them. Suddenly, they lifted me up, and a third disarmed me from behind. A Federal Police car pulled up, and they threw me onto the floor of the vehicle. Three minutes later, Fidel and Universo were there. In *A Grain of Corn*, Fidel comments on this event and says he thinks I\u2019m behind it. It was very fast. It happened in seconds. I don\u2019t have a clear understanding of the sequence.\u201d From there, I think they took us to the Federal Security Police Office, then to the Attorney General\u2019s Office, and later to the immigration detention center on Miguel Schultz Street.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Mexican side claimed it was a coincidence. They argued that they had set up a drug operation and the arrest happened by chance. \u201cYes, but I\u2019ve never thought it was by chance,\u201d Ramiro clarifies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIn jail, we slept in a common room. Some people threw mattresses on the floor. Fidel cooked several times before being separated from his family, just like on the Isle of Pines. We read a lot again. Che played chess and challenged his comrades to blindfold games. They would place the boards behind him, and he would call out his moves and listen to his opponents\u2019 replies. He kept several boards and each opponent\u2019s position in his mind. It was quite a spectacle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mexican General L\u00e1zaro C\u00e1rdenas took an interest in the detained young men and began negotiations for their release. A first group was freed. From then on, Ramiro \u201cimprisoned\u201d himself at the prison entrance. The possibility that Fidel might be transferred elsewhere or that something might be attempted against his life remained a real threat. The only entrance and exit were under the constant control of Ramiro and other comrades.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
All the preparations were rushed until their departure for Tuxpan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI traveled by road with Juan Manuel M\u00e1rquez. I don\u2019t remember the house in Santiago de la Pe\u00f1a. They say that Fidel claimed, when he was here, that the Granma had left from a point further downstream. We finished loading the provisions and weapons and stayed on board. The yacht immediately started taking on water, and we had to bail it out. I spent practically all my time outside, in a seat in the bow. I tried not to be below deck because they were very crowded, and the stench was unbearable.\u201d Julito, Ciro, and I shared a bunk next to a porthole or hatch. If anyone felt seasick, they lay down to cool off. I felt nauseous and unwell. I vomited only once. Ra\u00fal made jokes. If someone vomited, he would ask them in French if they were afraid. I was one of the last to disembark. We searched the yacht to make sure nothing was left behind. He\u2019d forgotten an anti-tank rifle with its ammunition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then came the trek through the mangroves and the days that followed. They camped at Alegr\u00eda de P\u00edo. Ramiro was assigned to fetch supplies from a nearby store. He paid for the crackers and the sausage, then returned to the sugarcane field. He distributed the meager rations to the platoons and then headed toward the outposts for the same purpose. As he approached the forward position, he spotted the soldiers moving toward the rebel positions. The firing became widespread, and he was the only one carrying the submachine gun. His equipment had been left with the platoon to make it easier for him to distribute the food to the troops.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI fell back to where my platoon was supposed to be. Only my backpack, rifle, and cartridge belt were waiting there. I was left alone.\u201d I grabbed my gun, the bullets, the ammunition I kept in my backpack, and a can of condensed milk. The bullets sliced \u200b\u200bthrough the reeds in a specific direction and at a specific height. I calculated where the enemy fire was coming from, as there was a rattle of gunfire from weapons we didn\u2019t have. The position of our men could be determined by the sporadic shots. I ran into Almeida\u2019s group, and we continued retreating toward the mountain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFrom hut to hut, we ended up at some Adventists\u2019 place. To help us break through the encirclement, they made it a condition that we leave our long guns behind. We had no other option, surrounded as we were by guards and with no sense of direction whatsoever. Continuing like that would have been suicide. We evaded ambushes. Almost without food, we finally reached Mongo P\u00e9rez\u2019s house, and then the reunion took place.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ramiro was 24 years old at the time. He joined Column 1, then Column 4, and later\u2014as second-in-command\u2014Column 8, Ciro Redondo, commanded by Commander Ernesto \u201cChe\u201d Guevara. As in Column 4 and at the ranch in Mexico, he was again his second-in-command.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
From that time, Che wrote to Fidel: \u201c\u2026I was hit by an M-1 bullet in the ankle, which is still there and completely prevents me from walking for now. Ramiro took charge of the column and is going with most of the men to the place the messenger will tell you about\u2026\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ramiro was not initially among those who would participate in the campaign in the west.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI insisted with Fidel. The main column, Column 1, fed the rest of the columns to extend the war, and I asked him not to deny me the opportunity to participate. He reluctantly agreed because, perhaps, he felt that the old combatants were leaving for other missions and he was being left alone. Death opened wide gaps in the ranks of the initiators, and many survivors were already fighting on other fronts. New comrades joined; but he was surely left with a longing for the faces of those difficult days.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Commander of the Revolution Ramiro Vald\u00e9s is at the edge of the gangplank. Soon, El Ta\u00edno\u2014the ship on which Cuban youth will reenact the Granma voyage to the archipelago 36 years after \u201cthe adventure of the century,\u201d as Che called the 1956 expedition\u2014will set sail. He is not only the sole witness to both eras, but also the only combatant who participated in all the significant events of the Cuban Revolution\u2014a fact acknowledged by Fidel: the attack on Moncada, imprisonment, exile in Mexico, the voyage of the Granma yacht, the guerrilla war in the Sierra Maestra, and the invasion of the country\u2019s interior. After the triumph, the fighting and ambushes continued, only then the war was silent. He has also been the Commander of the silent war.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He has lost neither his youth nor his romanticism. I listen to the short bursts of his narration. He is not one to tell stories, yet he has told them. His words are not bombastic. He speaks softly about a profound story. He recounts a life of love with natural ease. I listen to him, and he, surely, hears within himself the creaking of the planks of the old makeshift pier by the river, that November morning in 1956.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
IMAGE CREDIT: Photograph by Juvenal Bal\u00e1n, November 25, 1992, Tuxpan, Mexico.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
[ SOURCE: CUBA DEBATE ]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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