You were just a child when you heard these words, a teenager with white complexion and expressive eyes, who instantly defined his destiny: ''you would be a member of that army of pencils and booklets, you would be: a teacher.''
You applied to enter the Conrado Benítez Brigades, as seriously as you protected your high school against the mercenary attack on Playa Girón and joined the ranks of the Young Rebels Association.
Later, away from home, training days and minimal technical preparation at the Granma camp in Varadero. The blue of the beach did not accompany you on vacation; You were there in order to literate.
The province of Las Villas received you with your brigadista uniform and a lantern, ready to banish ignorance. The peasants learned about your nobility and sensitivity while they were learning the first letters.
Your kindness led you to replace a teacher, so you came to the Lantigua family. Classes taught with discipline and systematics joined the love of children. Despite the threats of the counterrevolutionary gangs in the area, you didn't quit. You, the teacher, insisted on keeping your position.
That morning, along with the coffee aroma, the criminals arrived masked as militiamen, and lashed out at the Lantigua family. A mother named Mariana vigorously ripped her son from the claws of the bandits, ... but you exclaimed: "I am the teacher!"
That November 26, 1961 it rained at the Palmarito Estate. The Sun marched sadly and quickly until sunset, as if avoiding witnessing the horrendous crime, the Astro King hid among red clouds, as red as the blood that flowed from the wounds of the two bodies that were revealed by a white moon of dread and trembling with anger.
Fate united your pure blood to that of Conrado Benítez and ... perhaps there, in the dark hands of torture and betrayal, along with your student Pedro Lantigua, in the agony near death: you, the teacher Manuel Ascunce Domenech, you saw the sea of green berets, heard the anthem and the words of Fidel that one day made you enter history forever.