Freedom Fighters

45. Revelations

The guard gestured to the lone figure of Che Guevara at the edge of the dark room. As Dario thanked him, the guard saw himself out, leaving the two alone. Standing by the windows, Che gazed out at the courtyard below, smoking a cigar. On the windowsill sat an half-full ashtray.

A crude emptiness defined the office of the prison commander. Barren for the most part, save for a grey metal desk stacked with piles of documents, and a squarish swivel chair behind it.

"General Dario Ruiz," Che called out as he put his cigar out, turning around. His tired grey eyes bore into his comrade and his lips remained firmly pursed. "What can I do for you?" he continued in a hoarse tone, almost sounding breathless. It was a question that sounded more like a statement.

"Che," Dario said. "I just wanted to talk to you."

The prison commander gave a barely perceptible nod, and reached for another cigar on his desk. 

"I went to the stadium today to take a look at the tribunals that Raúl was conducting."

"So I heard," Che replied nonchalantly.

Dario sighed. He looked straight into Che's eyes, hoping to find some sign that he was willing to help, but instead found a blank emotionless slate. A slight tremor formed in his throat as he spoke. "Those weren't trials, Che. They were show trials. Like theatre."

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Che breathed out a puff of smoke, before turning around to face the window, his hand gesturing Dario to do the same. 

Dario went to stand beside Che, looking out the window into the prison courtyard. A few guards were shepherding men with hands cuffed, presumably war criminals. One of the guards barked orders, ensuring that the prisoners were standing in a line with their backs turned. A line of guards stood behind them at a distance, rifles in hand. Dario realised that he was witnessing an execution, and those guards were the firing squad.

"Look at those men," Che said, pointing a finger at the prisoners as he placed his cigar between his lips. "Those are men who betrayed the country, Dario. They are not innocent. They have blood on their hands. Anyone who sided with Batista have blood on their hands. Why worry about the deaths of such men, Dario?"

"Che, if they deserve to die, they should. But many of these men were forced to do so in circumstance. Remember during the war? So many people did not want to fight at all."

"Yes, of course, Dario. Why would people want to fight when they can choose not to? But for our revolution to continue, we cannot afford to have counterrevolutionary thoughts take root. A revolution can only take place if the whole country stands behind us and move forward. These deaths are for the greater good of the nation."

As Dario absorbed Che's words, he could not help but feel a gross sense of disgust take hold within him. He hid it as much as he could, and said, in a dry tone. "What do you mean by greater good, Che? How do you define such an arbitrary term? Is it even on us to define such a term, Che? All I know is this. Killing thousands more is not the path to a better future."

At that moment, Che turned, abruptly, to face the general. He had on a slight sneer that suggested a hostility, but his eyes held a sympathetic softness, as if he were facing a child that had lost his way. 

"Dario. You are too soft. The country has to move forward. Men like me and Raúl are doing what is necessary for our revolution to continue."

"Oh yes?!" Dario could not suppress the rising of his volume. "What do you mean by revolution, Che? You brandish that word around like a badge and claim to be an advocate. The war is over."