Microsoft Word - ebooksclub.org__The_Dice_Man.rtf

by PV

  Our separation and divorce was in temporary abeyance. Lil was putting up with me on the condition that I behave myself with rational irrationality.

  Fred Boyd had been a frequent visitor since my release from the clinic in mid-July, and we’d enjoyed half a dozen discussions of dice theory and practice. He tended to quote Jung or Reik or R. D. Laing to show that my ideas weren’t all that original, but in doing so he seemed also to be implying that they might be credible. He began experimenting with dice play himself. He even hinted that it might have helped in his scholarly penetration into Miss Welish.

  Lil had granted me my conjugal rights again near the end of July and, although she had refused bitterly at first to try any of my dice bed games, she had in the last week surrendered somewhat. We had had two interesting sessions together, Lil especially enjoying one half hour of the sinner-saint game in which the dice had twice made me a saint and she a sinner.

  When we played chess she often tossed a die to determine which of two moves she would make, and she always let a die choose which movie we would see. She even let Larry play with the dice again as long as she had veto power over the options.

  But the real breakthrough in our relations had come when we had played a game of emotional roulette together one afternoon when the children were at the beach. We had simplified the standard game by using only three emotions as options - love, hate and pity - but had complicated it by having both of us randomized at the same time. We had each cast a die to determine what would be our first individual three-minute emotion. Lil got hatred, I got love.

  I pleaded and she reviled me; I tried to embrace her and she kicked me hard in the left thigh (thank God!); I got down on my knees and she spit on me. The three-minute sand egg-timer finally ran out and we cast again. I got pity and she got hatred again.

  `Poor Lil,’ I said to her as soon as I saw my dice command, and if I hadn’t ducked I think her fist would have gone through my head and come out the other side. The bitterness of months and years, which had earlier been expressed only in restrained sarcasm, came flooding out in physical action and verbal massacre. She was crying and screaming, gritting her teeth and flailing at me with her fists, and even before the timer had run out she collapsed on the edge of the bed in tears.

  ��nward,’ I said when the time was up and cast a die and got hate. She lethargically cast and got love.

  `You lifeless clump of cunt,’ I hissed out at the little bitch. `You scarecrow zombie, you weepy tomb. I’d rather caress Miss Reingold’s left elbow than have to touch your corpse: At first I saw anger flare in her eyes and then, like a flashbulb going off in her head, her eyes lit up, and she looked tender and compassionate.

  `-boobs like bee-bees, ass so flat and bony you can use it to iron with -‘

  `Luke, Luke, Luke,’ she repeated gently.

  `LooLooLoo yourself, bitch. You have no more courage than a squashed ant. A mouse. I married a mouse.’

  Anger flared again across her face.

  `Look at her can’t even follow a dice command for thirty seconds without losing control…’

  Bewilderment. I paced in intense anger in front of her.

  `To think, I might have been fucking a woman all these years: a big-booted bundle of orgasms like Arlene -‘

  `Luke she said.

  `- or a honey-cunted tiger like Terry’

  `My poor, poor Luke �� get a beady-eyed red-rimmed, tail-dragging mouse.’

  She was smiling and shaking her head and her eyes, though red-rimmed, were clear and bright. `-

  me, puke to think of it.’

  I was towering over her, fists clenched, sneering and hissing and gasping for breath. It felt so good, but she was looking up at me soft-eyed and defenseless and unhurt. It made me rail harder and harder until I was shamelessly repeating myself.

  `Luke, I love you’ she said when I paused.

  `Pity, stupid. You’re supposed to feel pity. Can’t even play a game right-‘

  `My Luke -‘

  ‘Brainless, chestless, assless clump of -‘

  `My poor sweet sick hero.’

  ��‘m not sweet! You bitch. I’ll stick a dustmop up your-‘

  `Time,’ she said. ��t’s time.’

  �� don’t give a fuck. I’d like to chop off your mousy head and peddle your cunt to lepers. I’d like-‘

  `The three minutes is up, Luke,’ she said quietly.

  ��h,’ I said, towering over her and slobbering.

  ��h. Sorry about that,’ I added.

  ��t’s enough for now,’ she said. ��nd thanks.’

  She then proceeded to bury her face in my belly and we went on to a fine fierce diceless fuck, such as is usually associated with the highly charged emotions of the beginnings or ending of an affair. She’d been compassionate or loving ever since.

  Mostly.

  That morning when the Die chose tennis we drove afterward to a beach on the bay and swam and played keep away with Larry and Evie and sunned and swam and back at the farm house had nice stiff gin drinks and talked some more, eating soup and cheeseburgers and smoking pot and while Lil made brownies Miss Welish played her guitar and Fred and I sang a duet about Harvard and Cornell and we smoked more pot and retired to our rooms, Lil and I making a slow, languorous giggly love and she cried, and Fred wandered in naked and asked if he could join us in an orgy and after casting the Die I had to say no and he said fuck the Die and I cast again which said that he could fuck the Die but not us and Miss Welish came in, Lil not casting the Die but saying no, and we all sat around discussing poetry and promiscuity and pot and pornography and the pill and possible positions and penises and pudenda and potency and permissiveness and playing and pricks.

  Much later I made another long, languorous, giggly love to Lil who was all honeyed up from all the talk and before we fell asleep she said to me dreamily `Now the dice man has a home’ and I said `mmmm’ and we slept.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  �� want you to help me to escape,’ Eric said quietly, holding the tuna-fish-salad sandwich in his hands lightly, as if it were delicate. We were in the Ward W cafeteria crowded in amongst other patients and their visitors. I was dressed casually in an old black suit and a black turtleneck shirt, he was in stiff gray mental-hospital fatigues.

  `Why?’ I asked, leaning toward him so I could hear better over the surrounding din of voices.

  ��‘ve got to get out; I’m not doing anything here anymore.’

  He was looking past my shoulder at the chaos of men in line behind my back.

  `But why me? You know you can’t trust me,’ I said.

  �� can’t trust you, they can’t trust you, no one can trust you.’

  `Thanks’

  `But you’re the only untrustworthy one on their side who knows enough to help us.’

  ��‘m honored. ‘I smiled, leaning back in my chair and self-consciously taking a sip from the straw leading into my paper carton of chocolate milk. I missed the beginning of his next sentence.

  `… will leave. I know that. Somehow it will come to pass.’

  `What?’ I said leaning forward again.

  �� want you to help me to escape.’

  ��h, that,’ I said. `When?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ��hhhh,’ I said, like a doctor being given an especially interesting set of symptoms.

  `Tonight at 8 P.M.’

  `Not eight fifteen?’

  `You will charter a bus to take a group of patients to see Hair in Manhattan. The bus will arrive at 7.45 P.M. You will come in and lead us out.’

  `Why do you want to see Hair?’

  His dark eyes darted at me briefly, then back to chaos beyond my shoulder.

  `We’re not going to see Hair. We’re escaping,’ he went on quietly. `You’ll let us all off on the other side of the bridge.’

  `But no one can leave the hospital like that without a written order signed by Dr. Mann or one of the other dire
ctors of the hospital.’

  ‘You will forge the order. If a doctor gives it to the nurse in charge no one will suspect a forgery.’

  ��fter you’re free, what happens to me?’

  He looked across at me calmly and with utter conviction said `That is not important. You are a vehicle.’ ��

  am a vehicle,’ I said.

  We looked at each other.

  �� bus, to be exact,’ I added.

  `You are a vehicle, you will be saved.’

  ‘That’s a relief to know.’

  We stared at each other.

  `Why should I do this?’ I finally asked. The noise around us was terrific and we had unconsciously brought our heads closer and closer to each other until they were separated now by only six inches. For the first time a hint of a smile crossed his lips.

  ‘Because the die will tell you to,’ he answered softly.

  ��hhh,’ I said, like a doctor who has finally found the symptom which makes the whole syndrome come together. ‘The Die will tell me to ‘

  `You will consult it now,’ he said.

  �� will consult it now.’

  I reached into my suit-coat pocket and pulled out two green dice.

  ��s I may have already explained to you, I control the options and their probability.’ ‘It makes no difference,’ Eric said.

  `But I don’t think much of the option to lead you in-such an escape.’ ‘It makes no difference,’ he said, his slight smile returning.

  `How many am I supposed to take to Hair with you?’

  `Thirty-seven,’ he said quietly.

  I believe my mouth fell open.

  ��, Dr. Lucius M. Rhinehart, am going to lead thirty-seven patients in the largest and most sensational mental-hospital escape in American history tonight at eight?’

  ‘Thirty-eight,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, thirty-eight,’ I said. We probed into each other’s eyes at six-inch range, and he seemed utterly without the slightest doubt about the outcome of events.’

  `Sorry,’ I said, feeling angry. ‘This is the, best I can do.’

  I thought for several seconds and then went on: ��‘m going to cast one die. If it’s a two or a six I’ll try to help you and thirty-seven others escape somehow from this hospital sometime tonight.’

  He didn’t reply. ��ll right?’

  ‘Go ahead and shake a six,’ he said quietly. I stared back at him for a moment and then cupped my hands, shook the die hard against my palms and flipped it onto the table between my empty milk carton and two lumps of tuna salad and the salt. It was a two.

  `Ha!’ I said instinctively.

  `Bring us some money too,’ he said, leaning back slightly but without expression. ��bout a hundred bucks should do.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up and looked down at me with a bright smile.

  `God works in mysterious way,’ he said.

  I looked back at him and for the first time realized that I too wanted not my will but the Die’s will to be done.

  `Yes,’ I said. `The vehicles of God come in many shapes and-‘

  `See you tonight,’ he said and edged his way out of the cafeteria.

  Actually I wouldn’t mind seeing Hair again, I thought, and then, smiling in dazed awe at the day I had before me, I set to work planning the Great Mental Hospital Escape.

  Chapter Fifty-thre��You’re cured,’ Jake said. ��f I do say so myself.’

  ��‘m not sure, Jake.’

  I said. We were in his office that afternoon and he was trying to tell me that this would be our last analytic session together.

  `Your interest in dice therapy has given you a rational base upon which to work with the dice. Before, you were using the dice to escape your responsibilities. Now they have become your responsibility.’

  `That’s very acute, I must admit. But how do we know the Die won’t flip me off in some new direction?’

  `Because you’ve got a purpose now. A goal. You control the options, right?’

  ‘True.’

  `You think dice therapy’s hot stuff, right?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  `You aren’t going to risk the advance of dice therapy for another roll in the hay with some dumb broad. You’re not.

  You know now what you want.’

  �� smart broad?’

  `The advance of dice therapy. The advance of dice therapy. It gives your life precisely that foundation which it’s been lacking since you rejected your father in the form of Freud and Dr. Mann and began this random rebellion.’

  `But a good dice therapist must lead a random life.’

  `But he’s got to meet the patient regularly. He’s got to show up ‘ `Mmmmm.’

  `He’s got to listen. He’s got to teach.’

  `Hmmm.’

  `Moreover, you’ve got Lil trying dice therapy, your kids. Your new self is being accepted. You don’t have to play the fool anymore.’

  �� see.’

  �� even accept the new Luke. Arlene has introduced me to several, Ah, positions of dice therapy. I spoke to Boggles.

  Dice therapy makes sense.’

  `1t does?’

  ��f course it does.’

  `But it will tend to break down the sense of a stable self so necessary for a human to feel secure.’

  ��nly superficially. Actually, it builds a dicestudent’s - Jesus, I’m using your terms already - a patient’s strength by forcing him into continual conflict with others.’

  `Builds ego strength?’

  ‘Sure. You’re not afraid of anything now, are you?’

  `Well, I don’t know.’

  `You’ve made an ass of yourself so many times that you can’t be hurt.’

  ‘Ahh, very acute.’

  ‘That’s ego strength.’

  `Without any ego.’

  `Semantics, but it’s what we’re after. I can’t be hurt because I analyze everything. A scientist examines his wound, his wounder and his healer with equal neutrality.’

  ��nd the dicestudent obeys the dice decision, good and bad, with equal passion.’

  `Right,’ he said.

  `But what kind of a society will it be if people begin consulting the Die to make their decisions?’

  `No problem. People are only as eccentric as their options and most of the people who will go through dice therapy are going to develop just like you; that’s what makes your case so important. They’re all going to go through a period of chaotic rebellion and then move into a lifetime of moderate, rational use of the dice consistent with some overall purpose.’

  ‘That’s very nice, Jake,’ I said and leaned back on the couch from the alert sitting position I had been in.

  ��‘m depressed,’ I added.

  `Moderate, rational use of the dice is rational and moderate and every man should try it.’

  `But the dicelife should be unpredictable and irrational and immoderate. If it isn’t, it isn’t dicelife.’

  `Nonsense. You’re following the dice these days, right?’

  `Yes.’

  `You’re seeing your patients, living with your wife, seeing me regularly, paying your bills, talking to your friends, obeying the laws: you’re leading a healthy, normal life. You’re cured.’

  �� healthy, normal life -‘

  ��nd you’re not bored anymore.’

  �� healthy, normal life unbored -‘

  `Right. You’re cured.’

  ��t’s hard to believe.’

  `You were a tough nut to crack.’

  �� don’t feel any different than I did three months ago.’

  `Dice therapy, purpose, regularity, moderation, sense of limits: you’re cured.’

  `So this is the end of my booster analysis?’

  ��t’s all over but the shouting.’

  ‘How much do I owe you?’

  `Miss R’ll have the bill for you when you leave.’

  `Well, thank you, Jake.’

&
nbsp; `Luke, baby, I’m finishing up “The Case of the SixSided Man” this afternoon and after poker tonight. I thank you.’

  ��t’s a good article?’

  `Tougher the case, better the article. By the way I’ve asked old Arnie Weissman to try to get you invited to speak at this fall’s annual AAPP convention - on Dice Therapy. Pretty good, huh?’

  `Well, thank you, Jake.’

  `Thought I’d present “The Case of the SixSided Man” on the same day.’

  ‘The dynamic duo,’ I said.

  �� thought of titling the article “The Case of the Mad Scientist,” but settled on “The SixSided Man.”

  What do you think?’

  `The “Case of the SixSided Man.”

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Jake came around from behind his neat desk and put his arm way up on my shoulder and grinned up into my face.

  `You’re a genius, Luke, and so am I, but moderation.’

  ‘So long,’ I said, shaking his hand.

  `See you tonight for poker,’ he said as I was leaving.

  ��h that’s right. I’d forgotten. I may be a bit late. But I’ll see you.’

  As I was softly closing the door behind me, he caught my eye one last time and grinned.

  `You’re cured,’ he said.

  �� doubt it, Jake, but you never can tell. Die be with you.’

  `You too, baby.’

  Chapter Fifty-four

  [From The New York Times, Wednesday, August 13, 1969, late edition.] In the largest mass escape in the history of New York State Mental Institutions, thirty-three patients of Queensborough State Hospital of Queens escaped last night during a performance of Hair at the Blovill Theater in midtown Manhattan.

  By 2 A.M. this morning ten of these had been recaptured by city police and hospital officials, but twenty-three remained at large.

  At the Blovill Theater the patients sat through the first act of the hit musical Hair, but as the second act was beginning they made their escape. Most of the patients began to snake-dance their way onto the stage to the music of the first number of Act 2 `Where Do I Go?’, mingled with the cast, and then fled backstage and hence to the street. The Blovill audience apparently assumed the performance of the patients was part of the show.