Che’s criticism, heard by everyone, lacerated Borrego; tears began running down his cheeks. Without saying a word, he walked away, burning with shame and indignation. He sat on a log listening to the rough-and-ready guerrillas titter and break into guffaws behind his back. After a few minutes, he heard steps. A hand was placed softly on his head and tousled his hair. “I’m sorry for what I said,” Che whispered. “Come on, it’s not such a big thing. Come back.” Without looking up, Borrego said, “Fuck off,” and stayed where he was for a long time. “It was the worst thing Che ever did to me,”
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