I write trembling

I’m with my heart in my hand. I think of Magda, as all her colleagues called her. She was the best and the humblest. He was a journalist until his last breath of him. Sometimes in the Radio Miter studio she was out of breath, she noticed it, but she went on, with that respect for the public, for the microphone, for the interviewees, for all of us disciples of his moral, personal, professional example. and so unique. Because Magda was exceptional.

I asked him every Saturday about some great personage in contemporary history, I had interviewed them all. It is not a way of saying. It is verbatim.

– How was Fidel, Magda?

-Very tall, very tall. And Salvador Allende very short, but very well dressed.

-And John Paul II, and Borges, and Leloir …

She remembered Pope Pius XII, her father who was Chancellor was busy in those secluded Vatican corridors, and she – a girl – ran around there.

He put his breast to the dictatorship without fuss and with all the courage.

Everything, courage.

He interviewed Hebe de Bonafini when it was little more than a guarantee of persecution. And he did it, despite everything.

The sometimes wicked years have placed her in the reprobate’s gallery for authoritarians and even put up a giant photo of her face, among others, as they trick children into spitting on her.

I do not forget. Nobody forget it.

He has always fought against authoritarianism.

In the studio it was on. She was always sarcastic and good, very good. She read my editorials on the air, I’m ashamed to say, but I want to tell you what she was like.

He did it because he loved his colleagues. He took care of us. He appreciated us just for being there, beside him. He taught us.

He respected us.

Every Saturday, for years, before I came on the radio, I stopped at a bakery to buy sandwiches with crumbs for everyone in the studio.

I had a fight with the baker because sometimes there wasn’t enough butter or mayonnaise.

It was our breakfast, along with his stories around the world.

“How did you get into East Germany, Magda?”

And he commented on the trip that it had been a dangerous adventure and then it spread throughout Argentina.

-Have you interviewed Bergoglio?

-I wanted to interview him several times and he always said the same thing to me: “It’s not time yet.”

Every time we mentioned him I would say to him “It’s not the time yet, Magda”. Well, he interviewed everyone, but not Bergoglio.

He remembered with passion a trip to the North Pole. She had gone with Marta Lamas, her friend and companion of a life of work. “Do you remember Martita, the sun there, the light …” He would come to the studio and order and organize that wonderful musicalization. And he also sang. He hummed in English, in French, in Italian. She was immensely cultured.

She was very attached to Father Mugica, who was murdered. She was not prejudiced about friendship. You have only condemned the injustice.

He went away singing in the sun, but you can no longer sing in the rain as before, as always, very soon, with that voice, which will never again be silent.

There is no silence possible for Magda.

Not even now, when he’s gone, when he’s with us more than ever.