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J ean-Paul, do you remember this
novillada
from Toledo?
You were so young.
- It was the winter of 1962, I was already almost 30 years old.
I was riding on a road in Normandy, at the entrance to Villerville.
The “Old Man” yelled at me that day because I almost lost the use of one hand.
My muleta had gotten caught in the rearview mirror of a car.
- I miss him, the “Old Man”.
In recent weeks, I think of him often.
You know that they come to visit me at night, in my room, in Douchy.
The other night I saw Melville's Stetson sneaking behind a curtain and heard Maurice Ronet's sardonic laugh.
He invited me to get into his Maserati Ghibli.
He was bewitching like a setting sun.
And then, Romy held my hand tenderly.
We listened to this Django Reinhardt record like in 1958, in our apartment on rue de Messine.
Meanwhile, in the forest, my Malinois was barking.
- Alain, you have always been a romantic…
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