I was exactly one year and one day older than him; Gille brought me a world of talent, knowledge, courage and good work in every aspect of life – and multiplied by the Universe.
It was a sweltering summer, I must admit. June 2007 was coming to an end, and we ended up as a jury for I don’t remember what award, at the José Martí International Institute of Journalism, which he led with such special training, and he said to me: “Flaca, let’s go.” dine at El Costillar. He was about to leave with his unreserved followers of La Tecla Ocurrente for the annual meeting in Guaracabulla, the very center of our Cuba, which he mapped on the map of popular knowledge, although it was Maestro Raul Ferrer who showed him the way to get there. there …
How sweet it must be to live here in Guaracabulla, next to a peasant who approaches the train with such naive transparency!
The bluish hills in the afternoon, the night covered with stars, the meek silence of a secluded village. Dream without noise!
I lectured him. There was no other. I asked him, perhaps more pleadingly, “Gille, don’t do stupid things, don’t show off, take care of yourself. Look, we always have to run with you.
I knew in advance that Guillermo Cabrera Alvarez, whom Fidel called El Genio, would not initiate the slightest case against me. He was not afraid to play with life or death. And he answered me with only that disarming smile, not devoid of a mischievous expression or Guevara sarcasm, but always with tenderness. Even with his well-known bluntness, he did not give any answer, not even this: “I’m busy.” Even fewer false promises because the simulation didn’t have a nest in that chest.
Perhaps he would read me one of his Honest Gifts, like the one Lord Byron wrote: “When old age cools the blood and pleasures are past, the most pleasant memory remains the last; and our sweetest memory is our first kiss.”
And he left with keyboardists scattered across the country since Thursdays rebellious youth and from El Hueco de Gy 21, bohemia, troubadour and unforgettable encounters, from the Institute.
Marty and his bike were seen leaving, in Tomy’s mural covering the office, which was always open with a Cuban identity; they told him See you soon!, the banks and groves of G Street; He did not understand the absence of his beloved dog, waiting for him a couple of blocks away.
Hugs and ringing Take care of this huge heart! The heart that nature made by default so big to fill it with love that it exploded on Sunday the 1st. July 2007, which left us all breathless, and left him alive and useful as never before. The exquisite corpse whose ashes further enriched the Sierra Maestra and comes to life in the House of Culture of Guillermo Cabrera Alvarez de Guaracabulla, Placetas, in the center of the archipelago, where he confidently repeats:
I enjoy the rare privilege of being a reader of my readers / Journalists should speak, write and film on behalf of those who cannot / An undocumented journalist has no compass / I believe in the value of the word and in the commitment of human beings.
Gille closed the chapter and opened the eternal book for his friends.
Source: Juventud Rebelde
