The sun took too long in announcing a new, unforgettable sad day. A light fog covered some areas of Mendoza’s city, leaving a rare touch of humidity in my dry native land, and the weather promised a hot and stormy day. In my soul everything was silence. I searched, from time to time, for my mother’s and Patricia’s eyes, although what I really wanted to find was the big black eyes of dad looking at me with sheer tenderness. This was never going to happen again. I felt that a heavy tear fell from my right eye. I searched for a handkerchif in my purse and found it.  nonetheless, nothing could wipe away my sorrow. I raised my eyes and took a deep breath.  An employee of the funeral home asked us if we wanted to view the body one more time and say our goodbyes as it was time for the the funeral precession to Capital Cemetery to begin.  I heard a sob from my mother who tried to hide it. Flemish is tough and will not cry in front of strangers.

More than a hundred people joined the silent procession that traveled to the marble black walled mausoleum where his ancestors were placed. Numerous floral tributes added color to the moment and scented the air. It was strange walking along the paths of the cemetery that Sunday morning. The day was fresh, and a light breeze was blowing. Watching the moving green leaves of the trees and the architectural design of tombs and mausoleums distracted my mind that was shocked by the most terrible moment in my life.

The speeches weren’t scarce. I remember with affection the discourse of a politician representing the ‘Justicialista” party of San Juan, the neighboring state. His words sounded sincere and respectful. With a tear or two I accompanied the ones that rolled in the contrite face of my father’s best friend. On the contrary, it sounded empty of emotions, the one that was pronounced by a politician in the name of the “Justicialista” Party of Mendoza. Days later, my mother confessed me that for her that man summed to be happy in the cemetery. Like an echo the voice of that lawyer returned three years later when he was elected by the Justicialista Party as candidate to governor of Mendoza. He knew the flavor of defeat at ballot boxes when the candidate of U. C. R.- Radical Union Civic-, the opposition Party, resulted winner in the new democratic elections in 1983.

Therefore my eyes tenderly set on sad looking Herradita, nickname of my father’s chauffeur, who for many years accompanied my father with absolute and admirable loyalty. During the campaign times, they traveled for each place of the province again-and-again. When the
chauffeur, who for many years accompanied Carlos Evans with absolute and admirable loyalty. During the campaign times, they traveled for each place of the province again-and-again. When the peronistas obtained the power in 1973, they shared the stressful and dangerous moments in those times. Finally, when the militaries took the power in 1976, I remembered their friendly faces during intimated chats during evenings days in the kitchen of my home.
When his friends carried the coffin into the mausoleum, I closed my eyes feeling as that my body was quickly descending of a high building without a parachute. Undoubtedly, it was going to be difficult for me to get accustomed to the permanent absence of my father.

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