MADAME TISHKA

Madame Tishka on Love & Conspiracy Theories

Dear Madame Tishka,

I am a very famous man.  Famous in the world of arts and letters.  You would immediately recognize me by name so I will use the pseudonym, Flano.  Please address me this way when you respond to what I am about to present.  Here is my dilemma.  I have an overriding  feeling of wanting to kill my wife.  Now, you will notice I have chosen to use the word kill rather than what some would call its equivalent: murder.  Murder is far too dramatic.  Murder is the meat of plays.  Yes, I am in fact a playwright.  But putting aside my profession, I will use the word kill in the context of my wife.  Who, circumstantially, recently became my ex-wife.  Let me describe her to you.  Hair that is charcoal-colored, silken with a slight wave, a ripple down to her backside.  (I am a mature man and though I look eons younger than my actual years, I prefer not to say ass or butt).  That crudeness doesn’t apply to this situation.  My wife has an ample backside.  Rosy as a ripe apple.  A juicy woman in all respects.  Her breasts are a gift from the gods.  Sapphire eyes like refracted stone.  Her body is Venus de Milo.  Madame Tishka, I hope I’m presenting a clear picture.  Because her physical beauty is such perfection, a person could scarcely imagine inflicting a minor scratch on her.  And herein lies the problem.  How could I dare to imagine doing the unthinkable?  Stabbing her white throat or putting both hands around it cutting off her voice and air or pushing her down a flight of stairs where she ends up lying at the bottom with her neck snapped.  I’ve always been intrigued by the neck.  And though there are many ways a man can kill a woman, the neck seems to be the most vulnerable spot.  As if I were a young man, once again, about to wade into the pond and snap the neck of the white swan.

Dear Flano,

Madame Tishka has heard all you have to say in the moment.  Tishka feels there is much more raging in your heart and body.  Things implied but not spoken about for intentional reasons.  But since you have come to rest here, Tishka will address you accordingly.  To kill someone other than yourself is not an act of mercy.  It is not a play where the curtain comes down at Intermission and people buy ice cream or drinks.  It is not a part that can be unwritten.  To kill another will go down in the annals of time.  It will etch into every rock and surface. It will seep into the waters of oceans and rivers, into all flowing tributaries.  All blood.  Every child born will house this killing in its gene pool.  No matter if you never have a child of your own, Flano.  All children are children of the world.  The world will carry this stain.  It will become an uglier place.  The woman with sapphire eyes and charcoal-colored hair should be left to walk in peace.  You who calls himself Flano, you are not the world’s keeper.  Nor are the others who try and shape and manipulate to their desires.  Madame Tishka has developed a sudden splitting headache.  She will shut the blinds and pull the curtains across.  Drape the crystal ball in a cloak of blackness.

Madame Tishka

BIO:  Susan Tepper’s new book From the Umberplatzen (Wilderness House Press) is a quirky love story told in linked-flash and set in Germany.  www.susantepper.com/umberplatzen.html