I cherish many memories of those days of anguish and bitterness.

Alongside the shadows formed by the treachery and cowardice of many, there appear, among my memories, gestures lit with loyalty and valor.

But I do not yet want to write in detail about all that.

That week in October, 1945, was a panorama of many shadows and of many lights. It were better not to get too close to it...and to look at it another time, from farther off. This does not prevent me from saying, however, with absolute frankness, in anticipation of what I will write in detail some day, that the light came only from the people.

In this book, which tries to set forth the causes and the objects of the mission to which I have dedicated myself, I cannot omit the following episode. It figures in my spirit as a fundamental reason for what I am at this hour of my country's history, and it led me to the post I now occupy in the justicialist* movement. (*from Justicialismo, General Perón's political doctrine.)

I recall that in my loneliness and bitterness, while I wandered about the great city, I expected at every instant to receive some message from the absent imprisoned Leader (Perón). I imagined that in some way he would contrive to let me know how he was and where he was; and I awaited his news with a soul tortured by anguish.

I keep the various messages he wrote me in those days; and in all of them the calmness of spirit with which he faced events is evidenced by his clear, firm and decisive handwriting.

In these messages he repeatedly asked me to recommend his workers to be calm, not to worry about him, not to create violent incidents.

I-I confess it honestly-searched in all his letters for a word that would tell me of his love.

Instead, he hardly spoke of anything but his "workers"...whom at that time the oligarchy, at large in the streets, began to call decamisados. (Shirtless Ones)

His strange insistence enlightened me. "To you I entrust my workers" were his words of love, his most heartfelt words of love.

This revolution brought-and still does-a great light into my life. To me, a humble and lowly woman, he entrusted the care of his workers, his greatest love. And I thought to myself: "He could have entrusted them to others, to any of his friends, including some trade-union leader...but no, he wanted it to be me...a woman who knows nothing except how to love him!'

That was, without doubt, proof positive of his love. But it was proof that required an answer; and I gave it to him.

I gave it to him then, and I keep giving it. As long as I live I will not forget that he, Perón, entrusted me with his descamisados in the most difficult hour of his life.

As long as I live I will not forget that he, when he wished to prove his love to me, trusted me to look after his workers!

He found no better way of expressing his love, and I am sure now that he chose the purest and greatest way of telling me of it.

Ever since that day, whenever I, in turn, want to show him my womanly love-and I always want to show it-I cannot find either a purer or a greater way than of offering him a little of my life, burning it up with love for his descamisados.

This, also, is part of my debt of gratitude to him and to them, and I discharge it gladly, happily, as one fulfills all the debts imposed by love.