Between the end of the 1970s and the start of the 1980s, I happened several times to accompany Félix to the La Borde Clinic where he worked as a psychiatrist. La Borde is a short distance from Dhuizon where Félix lived. He had a house surrounded by trees, and it was there that he wrote, not in Paris, in the house on the rue de Condé crowded with friends, exiles passing through, and fascinating women. Sometimes Félix invited me to participate in the activities organized at La Borde by the guests at the clinic. I remember him asking me to hold a conference on free radios. There was a small crowd there to hear me, all seated on chairs arranged pell-mell, and I told Italian stories. At the end, a woman of a certain age took the floor to express her sympathy for Stalin and for comrade Togliatti, both of whom by then had been dead for quite a few years. At the same time, a Japanese dance troupe with painted faces, I forget the name, came to La Borde, and in the clinic's big courtyard they moved among the dismayed patients making improvised movements that cut through the air followed by long immobile suspensions.