Che Guevara (98 page)

That, of course, was the problem. Che had been the guiding hand in moving Fidel toward socialism, to his relationship with the Soviet Union, and now he had become the revolution’s foremost revolutionary heretic, an enfant terrible with international aspirations.

During his visit, Metutsov had many conversations with Che, but it was one all-night talk they had together, early in January of 1964, that
Metutsov recalled in special detail. They sat talking until dawn in the library of the Soviet ambassador’s residence and, when they had finished, took a swim together in the pool. “The conversation began with a reproach by him,” Metutsov recalled. “He said he had heard that in the Soviet Union, in the Party Central Committee, Che Guevara was considered to be pro-Chinese, that is, that he was the person proposing Maoist tendencies within the leadership. And of course, this was the most acute question.” Metutsov said that Che then began explaining why he wasn’t a Maoist. “I said, ‘Che, believe me, someone is weaving a spiderweb. In our Party no such attitude toward you exists; someone is trying to sow discord between us.’”

As he spoke, trying to reassure the younger man, Metutsov said he began to experience a strange sensation. A jowly, beetle-browed man with huge ears and pale blue eyes, Metutsov found himself “falling in love” with Che. “I told him: ‘You know, I’m a little older than you, but I like you, I like above all your looks.’ And I confessed, I confessed my love for him because he was a very attractive young man. ... I knew his defects, from all the papers, all the information we had, but when I was talking to him, when we dealt with one another, we joked, we laughed, and we talked about less than serious things, and I forgot about his defects. ... I felt attracted to him, do you understand? It was as if I wanted to get away, to separate myself, but he attracted me, you see. ... He had very beautiful eyes. Magnificent eyes, so deep, so generous, so honest, a stare that was so honest that somehow, one could not help but feel it ... and he spoke very well, he became inwardly excited, and his speech was like that, with all of this impetus, as if his words were squeezing you.”

Snapping out of his romantic reverie, Metutsov said that as Che spoke, he became convinced that he was sincere. “He said that according to his ideological and theoretical convictions as a Marxist he was closer to us than to the Chinese ... and he asked me to keep this in mind, to let my comrades know that he was a true friend of the Soviet Union and the Leninist party.”

Still, Metutsov went away with an appraisal that escaped easy definition. “Externally one could truly say that, yes, Che Guevara was contaminated by Maoism because of his Maoist slogan that the rifle can create the power. And certainly he can be considered a Trotskyite because he went to Latin America to stimulate the revolutionary movement ... but in any case I think these are external signs, superficial ones, and that deep down, what was most profound in him was his aspiration to help man on the basis of Marxism-Leninism.”

Che’s “peculiarity,” Metutsov noted, was his personal commitment to the revolutionary cause. “He understood that his nickname, ‘Che,’ had become the expression of his personality. In our conversations I had the
impression that he knew that his portrait already hung on history’s walls, the history of the national liberation movement. He was sufficiently intelligent to understand this, without arrogance, and meanwhile he remained a normal person, looking for ways with his comrades to build socialism in Cuba and to make that historical portrait of his more relevant, more permanent.”

The issue of Che’s support for the armed struggle may have been a source of worry for some of his comrades on the Central Committee, but Metutsov denied that it was perceived as one by the Kremlin leadership or by Khrushchev personally. “Was the Soviet Union interested in developing the global revolutionary movement? Yes. So what was wrong if Cuba helped and lent its portion of support? It all went into the same piggy bank.”

Even as Metutsov and Che had their nocturnal conversation, Fidel was preparing to make a return visit to the Soviet Union. On January 2, 1964, on the fifth anniversary of the revolution and the eve of his trip, he gave a lengthy address to the Cuban people. He spoke with enthusiasm about the future of Cuba’s economy and lauded Cuba’s partnership with the Soviet Union. He reiterated Cuba’s support for the policy of peaceful coexistence and Cubans’ desire to live in peace with any country, whatever its political system, including the United States. Fidel’s speech was clearly intended for American ears. Only two months earlier, he and President Kennedy had been edging toward a behind-the-scenes détente, sending exploratory messages back and forth with a view to normalizing relations, when Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas.
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He was sending a clear signal that he hoped the new American president, Lyndon Johnson, would resume the abruptly severed initiative.

Fidel came back from Moscow with a generous new six-year, 24-million-ton sugar agreement in one hand, and a joint Soviet-Cuban communiqué in the other. This time, he had gone all the way; Cuba and the Soviet Union rejected “factional and sectarian activity” in the world Communist movement; they agreed on Moscow’s terms for unity; and, pointedly, Cuba was “ready to do whatever is necessary to establish good neighborly relations with the United States of America, based upon the principles of peaceful coexistence.” Khrushchev praised this new Cuban “orientation,” which would help “consolidate peace and relax international tensions.”

To Maurice Halperin, an American political scientist and economist who was then teaching in Cuba at Che’s invitation, the document Fidel had signed in Moscow was unequivocal. “The endorsement of the Soviet ‘line’ vis-à-vis China was enormously strengthened by Fidel’s signature on a document enjoying the status of a joint communiqué,” he said. At the same time, “The message to the United States—and to Latin America, for that matter—was clear: Castro offered to negotiate an accommodation with Washington, Khrushchev approved, and the unavoidable inference for Latin America was that Castro was prepared to abandon the Latin American revolution for the sake of an accommodation.”

Of course, like most of Fidel’s passionately stated “positions,” it was a public posture, one he would revise before long, and then continue to revise in future years. As for his affirmation of support for peaceful coexistence, it was largely intended as a statement of intent to use as a bargaining chip in hoped-for negotiations with Washington. At that very moment, Cuban arms and personnel were directly involved in a number of conflicts in Latin America and at least one in Africa. Masetti’s men were prowling the Orán jungle, Héctor Béjar’s guerrilla column was busily reinfiltrating Peru, and it had been only two months since Venezuelan authorities had captured a shipment of 300 tons of weapons sent from Cuba for the guerrillas there. Cuba’s former revolutionary police chief, Efigenio Ameijeiras, and other Cuban military men were in Algeria, secretly helping command an armored battalion in the border war that had broken out with Morocco.

To Che, the term “peaceful coexistence” was anathema, mere appeasement of the imperialist system dressed up in diplomatic language. For the moment, he kept his mouth shut, but there was no longer any doubt that his and Fidel’s paths had begun to diverge. Fidel’s goal was to consolidate Cuba’s economic well-being and his own political survival, and for that he was willing to compromise. Che’s mission was to spread the socialist revolution. The time for him to leave Cuba was drawing near. He put great store in Jorge Ricardo Masetti’s abilities to give him the opportunity to do just that.

In February, 1964, Alberto Castellanos returned to the “war zone” from Córdoba. He was overweight and out of shape after spending a month in the city drinking beer and eating well. On the six-hour hike up to the guerrilla camp he fainted three times. When he arrived, he learned that Masetti had decided that the EGP was going to become active. The guerrillas were going to
dar un pingazo
—stick the dick in hard. The moment was timed to
coincide with the second anniversary of the military coup that had toppled Frondízi: March 18.

Masetti’s authoritarian streak had by then become frightening, his paranoia about potential deserters pathological. He was persecuting Henry Lerner, a young medical student from Córdoba who had arrived in camp the night of the execution of Pupi Rotblat. Lerner, like Rotblat, was a Jew, but at the time he didn’t think there was a connection. The son of a veteran Communist, and a doctrinaire self-described Stalinist at the time, he was proud of his fortitude and conviction, and he expected military discipline. But as Masetti’s remarks toward him became increasingly hostile, and as he was singled out for especially punishing assignments, Lerner began to realize that Masetti thought he was inadequate as a guerrilla and was trying to break him. He despaired.

At Christmas, the urban network had sent up a pile of delicacies for the guerrillas, and after dinner Lerner sat against a tree, smoking a cigarette and feeling nostalgic. His thoughts had turned to his family and the wife he had left back in the city, when Masetti crept up behind him. “Hey, what are you thinking about?” Masetti demanded. When Lerner told him, Masetti said: “So, you’re planning to desert, aren’t you?” Lerner had heard about El Fusilado, and of course Pupi had been executed the night he arrived. In Masetti’s view, to be suspected of even thinking about desertion was punishable by death.

Ciro Bustos noticed the tension on his trips back to camp and became alarmed; he could see another “Pupi situation” developing. Lerner talked to Bustos privately and asked for his help. Bustos interceded, telling Masetti he was wrong; Lerner was a good
cuadro
, committed to the cause, and definitely not a potential deserter. He urged Masetti to give Lerner a chance to prove himself, and Masetti finally agreed. He told Lerner to monitor the behavior of two other fighters he had singled out for punishment. One, Nardo, was a new arrival whose real name was Bernardo Groswald. He was a nineteen-year-old Jewish bank clerk from Córdoba. He had almost immediately fallen apart in the harsh jungle and was exhibiting the same symptoms of distress that had finished off Pupi. Lerner had guided Nardo on his first hike up to the camp, and he recalled that the young man clearly had no idea what he was getting into. “Nardo asked if we gave talks, if we had meetings ... as if he was coming to some kind of flower show,” Lerner said. “He was done for after two days. He had flat feet, was frightened of going down slopes, and he began animalizing. It was truly repellent, and as the days went by he began physically to look more like an animal. To go down a hill he went down on his ass, walked on all fours. ... He was dirty, unclean, and he was punished, given the hardest jobs, that kind of thing.”

The other detainee under observation was “Grillo” Frontíni, a photographer and the son of a well-known and affluent
porteño
lawyer. Grillo had been in charge of coordinating things for the EGP in Buenos Aires but had been profligate and careless with the organization’s money. Masetti had ordered Bustos to bring him to the mountains to be tried. He placed both young men under “arrest.” Lerner was to guard them at a bivouac in the forest for a week. He was to watch them, talk to them, and determine whether or not they were trustworthy; depending on what he reported back, there would be a summary trial to decide their fates.

Masetti saw enemies all around him. He had become emotionally unpredictable. One moment he was euphoric, and the next he would plunge into a deep depression that could last for days. His sciatic nerve, injured in Algeria in his competitions with El Fusilado, hurt him terribly. Bustos was especially concerned for the fate of Nardo, and he said that he begged Masetti not to do anything until he could make arrangements for Nardo to be evacuated. He would find some people who could be trusted on a farm where Nardo could be kept in custody until it was safe to release him. Masetti promised he would wait.

Meanwhile, Pirincho had left on a special mission. He hadn’t been the same since killing Pupi but had managed to conceal his anguish effectively. Having won Masetti’s trust, he persuaded Masetti to let him return to Buenos Aires. A Cuban agent was supposed to arrive in Uruguay with a shipment of arms, and Pirincho was to meet him and smuggle the arms across the Río de la Plata in his family’s yacht. Masetti wanted the arms for his new plan of action. The CGT, Argentina’s huge
peronista
-dominated workers’ confederation, was planning a general strike against the Illia government, which had given organized labor the cold shoulder. Masetti’s idea was to get arms to Vasco Bengochea’s group and launch a series of coordinated lightning attacks against rural military targets in the area where the provinces of Salta and Tucumán joined. The EGP could advertise its presence and show support for Argentina’s workers at the same time. The guerrillas would then escape, moving over the Andean cordillera to a new base of operations to the south; Masetti had already carried out some initial exploration of the route. Their disappearance would throw off the security forces by creating the impression that the guerillas were a much bigger force than they really were. It was a tactic Fidel and Che had employed with success in the early days of the sierra war, and Masetti wanted to apply it now.

He was also anxious to get organized. In February, he asked Bustos to make contact with Pirincho in the city and find out how the preparations for the transfer of arms were going. Bustos went to Buenos Aires and arranged a meeting with Pirincho. Pirincho didn’t show up. They arranged
another encounter: another no-show. Finally, Pirincho agreed to meet Bustos in the Belgrano train station. When Bustos arrived, he saw that Pirincho, clearly afraid of being marked for an “extreme measure,” had taken precautions. Not only had he selected a public place to meet; he had several watchful friends stationed nearby, staking out the exits.

“Pirincho told me he had agreed to meet to give me an explanation,” Bustos recalled. “He wanted to explain why he wasn’t going back because he knew I would understand. Then he told me the whole story, about his breakdown, about how he had lost faith because of the murder of Pupi, and about how he knew the guerrilla thing went beyond the personality of Segundo, and that that was what he respected and would maintain loyal to. He said, ‘I want to get out of here. I’m going to Europe. ... I give my word I won’t say anything to anyone.’”