Epilogue

Lights are back.

The audience erupts in applause and warmly congratulates the leading parts, Tosca and Cavaradossi. Scarpia comes back for his share of fame and applause.

I resign myself to not seeing the face of this young woman. Once again, she has escaped my embrace protected by the shadow of the theater. She took her bag in the dark and I have barely seen the door close on her silhouette. I could not even try to stop her from leaving.

I don’t run after her. If she wants to flow away, so be it.

I enjoy the end of the show and the numerous rounds of applause. I was not so focused on the stage as usual but I will for sure remember this evening and the encounter with this young woman. I contribute to the applause and the soprano is called back on stage seven or eight times in a row. When the curtain falls on the stage for the last time, I take my stuff. I join the crowd and head towards the exit. It will take some time to walk down the endless stairs. Reaching the exit of the theater takes always a long time. People walk slowly while they comment on the show, check the booking of the “uber” driver or discuss the selection of a restaurant. The emotion of the music and of the play needs its own transition before people are given back to reality. The audience comments on different aspects of the show. This piece by Puccini is often used to introduce newcomers to the opera because of the simplicity of the screenplay and the emotional atmosphere. This libretto is also one of the biggest references for sopranos and tenors in the repertoire, with very popular arias. The staging of the opera was not that much original, but enjoying world-class singers in a live event is always a great chance.

I watch the people walking around in the stairs but I am almost convinced that I will not recognize the young woman who made my evening in gifting me with her orgasm. I will only keep the memory of an anonymous embrace.

Is it better in that way? No risk of disappointment. I have to be glad that I could enjoy her body and taste her intimate juices. Remaining anonymous might also preserve some more magic about this moment, but also will leave the frustration of an unfinished endeavor.

Walking down the stairs, I arrive at the level of a mezzanine used to rest between acts, or sometimes for small events and exhibitions.

From the distance, I notice a young woman with corpulence and hair similar to the ones I have enjoyed for some hours.

She seems to wait for somebody.

She tries to observe in a casual way persons walking down to her. She scrutinizes the crowd. Her inquisitive eyes cannot mask her impatience. She lays her eyes on me and fixes my face. I walk closer to her and her eyes zero on me.

I walk on the right side of the stairs, I will pass less than one meter from her. When I get to her, she catches my hand and I stop. She smells my fingers, then catches the other hand and smells it as well. I discover now the face and the eyes of the young woman who climaxed for my pleasure as the music acknowledged Tosca’s desperation and suicide.