“Part of me has missed you, Luke.” She smiled warmly at him, “And part of me hasn’t.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Part of me was mad mad mad,” she went on, frowning. “And part of me,” she smiled again, “was glad glad glad.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Fred Boyd helped me let go of the mad mad mad business and that’s just left me with … the other.”
“How’d Fred do it?”
“After I’d cried and complained and raged for an hour or so two days after that party for Krum, he said to me: ‘You ought to consider suicide, Lil.’ ” Lil paused to smile at the memory. “That sort of caught my attention so to speak, and he went on to say: ‘Shake the dice also to see whether you should try to kill Luke.’ ”
“Good friend, old Fred,” Dr. Rhinehart interjected.
“Another option he suggested was that I divorce you and try to marry him.”
“One of my real pals.”
“Or also, that I not divorce you but begin sleeping with him.”
“Greater love hath no man than this: that he lay down his best friend’s wife—”
“He then gave a sincere impassioned lecture on how I had let my compulsive tie to you limit me in every way, let it starve all the creative and imaginative selves that would otherwise live.
“My own theories turned against me.”
“So I shook a die and Fred and I have been enjoying each other ever since.”
Dr. Rhinehart stopped his pacing and stared.
“Exactly what does that mean?” he asked.
“I’m trying to state the matter delicately so you won’t be upset.”
Dr. Rhinehart looked at the floor for a while (the realization that it was a new rug registered dimly on his consciousness), then back up at his wife.
“How about that?” he said.
“It’s pretty good, as a matter of fact,” Lil replied. “Just the other night—”
“Er no, Lil, the details really aren’t necessary. I’m … hmmm. I’m … well, what else is new?”
“I’ve been enrolled since the fall at Columbia Law School.”
“You’re what?”
“I gave the dice a choice of several of my lifelong daydreams and they chose that I become a lawyer. Don’t you want me to broaden myself?”
“But law school!” Dr. Rhinehart said.
“Oh Luke, for all your supposed liberation you’ve still got an image of me as a helpless, beautiful female.”
“But you know I can’t stand lawyers.”
“True, but have you ever slept with one?”
Dr. Rhinehart shook his head dazedly.
“You were supposed to be heartbroken, distraught, anxiety filled, helpless, desperate, incompet—”
“Oh stuff that shit,” Mrs. Rhinehart said.
“Did Fred teach you such language?”
“Don’t be a child.”
“True,” Dr. Rhinehart said, suddenly collapsing in a heap on the couch—it, he was glad to note, remained the same as from his old life. “I’m proud of you, Lil.”
“You can stuff that too.”
“You’re showing real independence.”
“Don’t bother, Luke,” Mrs. Rhinehart said. “If I needed your praise I wouldn’t be independent.”
“Are you wearing a bra?”
“If you have to ask, it’s not worth asking.”
“The Die told me to reseduce you, but I can’t see even where to begin.” He looked up at her as she leaned again against her new desk. She was smoking and her elbows stuck out sharply and she didn’t look too mousy. “I’m not in the mood for a knee in the groin.”
Mrs. Rhinehart dropped a die onto the desk beside her and after looking at it said quietly to her husband:
“Out you go, Luke.”
“Where am I going?”
“Just out.”
“But I haven’t seduced you yet.”
“You’ve tried and failed. Now you’re leaving.”
“I haven’t seen my children. How is my diceboy Larry?”
“Your diceboy Larry is fine. I told him when he came home from school this afternoon that you might be dropping by, but he had an important baseball game and had to rush away.”
“Is he practicing the dicelife, like a good boy?”
“Not very much. He says his teachers won’t recognize dice decisions as a legitimate excuse for not doing homework. Now out, Luke, you’ve got to go.”
Dr. Rhinehart looked away out the window and sighed. Then he dropped a die on the couch beside him and looked at it.
“I refuse to leave,” he said.
Mrs. Rhinehart walked out of the room and returned with a pistol.
“The Die told me to make you leave. Since you deserted me, legally you have no right to be in this room without my permission.”
“Ahh, but my Die told me to try to stay.”
Mrs. Rhinehart consulted a die on the desk beside her.
“I’m counting to five and if you’re not out of here I’m going to fire.”
“Don’t be silly, Lil,” Dr. Rhinehart replied, smiling, “I’m not—”
“Two, three …”
“Doing anything which merits such extreme measures. It seems to me—”
BAM!! The noise from the gun shook the whole room.
Dr. Rhinehart snapped up from the couch without undue delay and began moving toward the door.
“A hole in the couch is—” he began, trying to smile, but Mrs. Rhinehart had consulted the die again and was counting to five and, having only a limited desire to hear her reach the end of the recitation, Dr. Rhinehart sprinted with all deliberate speed to the door and left.
58
[Being a questioning of Dr. Lucius Rhinehart by Inspector Nathaniel Putt of the New York City police regarding the unfortunate escape of thirty-three mental patients from a performance of Hair. Six of the patients are still at large.]
“Mr. Rhinehart, I—”
“It’s Dr. Rhinehart,” interrupted Dr. Mann irritably.
“Ah, excuse me,” said Inspector Putt, ceasing his pacing briefly to stare back at Dr. Mann seated beside Dr. Rhinehart on a low, ancient couch in the Inspector’s office. “Dr. Rhinehart, first, I must inform you that you are entitled to have a lawyer present to rep—”
“Lawyers make me nervous.”
“—resent you. I see. All right. Let’s proceed. Did you or did you not meet with Eric Cannon in the cafeteria of QSH between the hours of ten thirty and eleven fifteen on March 10th?”
“I did.”
“For what purpose?”
“He invited me to see him.”
“What did you talk about?”
“We talked about his desire to see the musical Hair. He informed me that many of the patients wanted to see Hair.”
“Anything else?”
“I shook the dice and determined that I would do everything in my power to take Eric and thirty-seven others to see Hair.”
“But, Luke,” interrupted Dr. Mann. “You must have realized the incred—”
“Steady, Dr. Mann,” said Inspector Putt. “I’ll handle this.” He came and stood directly in front of Dr. Rhinehart, his tall, slender body leaning forward, his sharp gray eyes falling coldly on his suspect. “After you decided to help Cannon and others to leave the hospital, what did you do?”
“I forged Dr. Mann’s signature on letters to me and to several others and proceeded to effect the temporary release of the patients.”
“You admit this?”
“Of course I admit this. The patients wanted to see Hair.”
“But, but—” said Dr. Mann.
“Steady, sir,” interrupted the Inspector. “If I understand your position now correctly, Dr. Rhinehart, you are now confessing that you did, in fact, forge Dr. Mann’s signature, and on your own initiative obtain the release to go to Manhattan of thirty-seven mental patients.”
“Thirty-eight. Absolutely. To see Hair.
”
“Why did you lie to us before?”
“The Die told me to.”
“The …” The Inspector stopped and stared at Dr. Rhinehart. “The die … yes. Please describe your motivation in taking the patients to Hair.”
“The Die told me to.”
“And why did you cover up your trail by forging Dr. Mann’s signature and pretending to try to see Dr. Mann?”
“The Die told me to.”
“Your subsequent lying was—”
“The Die told me to.”
“And now you say—”
“The Die told me to.”
There was a very long silence, during which the Inspector stared neutrally at the wall above Dr. Rhinehart’s head.
“Dr. Mann, sir, perhaps you could explain to me precisely what Dr. Rhinehart means.”
“He means,” said Dr. Mann in a small, tired voice, “that the dice told him to.”
“A cast of the dice?”
“The dice.”
“Told him to?”
“Told him to.”
“And thus,” said Dr. Rhinehart, “I had no intention of permitting any patients to escape. I plead guilty to forging Dr. Mann’s signature on trivial letters which, as I understand it, is a misdemeanor, and to showing poor judgment in the handling of mental patients, which, since it is universally practiced by everyone else associated with mental hospitals, is nowhere considered a crime of any sort.”
Inspector Putt looked down on Dr. Rhinehart with a cold smile.
“How do we know that you did not agree to help Cannon and Jones and their followers escape?”
“You have my statements and, when you get close enough to talk to him again, you will have Mr. Cannon’s statements, which, however, will be inadmissible as evidence no matter what he says.”
“Thanks a lot,” the Inspector said ironically.
“Does it not occur to you, Inspector, that in telling you that I forged Dr. Mann’s signature, I may be lying because the Die has told me to?”
“What—”
“That in fact my original statements of innocence may be the true ones?”
“What? What are you suggesting?”
“Simply that yesterday when I heard that you wished to question me again, I created three options for the Die to choose from: that I tell you I had nothing to do with the order to go to Hair; that I tell you that I initiated the excursion and forged the orders; and thirdly, that I tell you I conspired with Eric Cannon to help him escape. The Die chose the second. But which is the truth seems to me to be still an open question.”
The Inspector moved in a daze back behind his desk and sat down.
“Luke, you’re relieved of all your duties at QSH as of today,” said Dr. Mann.
“Thank you, Tim.”
“I suppose you’re still on our board of management for the simple reason that I don’t have the authority to fire you from that, but in our April meeting—”
“You could forge Dr. Cobblestone’s signature, Tim.”
There was a silence.
“Are there any more questions, Inspector?” Dr. Rhinehart asked.
“Do you wish to initiate criminal proceedings against Dr. Rhinehart for forgery, sir?” the Inspector asked Dr. Mann.
Dr. Mann turned and looked a long time into the black, sincere eyes of Dr. Rhinehart, who returned his gaze steadily.
“No, Inspector, I’m afraid I can’t. For the good of the hospital, for the good of everyone, I wish you’d keep this whole conversation confidential. The public thinks the escape was a conspiracy of hippies and blacks. For all we know, as Dr. Rhinehart so kindly points out, it may be a conspiracy of hippies and blacks. This business of the die would only confuse the public.”
“It confuses me, Dr. Mann.”
“Precisely. There are some things we must protect the common man from knowing as long as we can.”
“I think you’re right.”
“May I go now, fellows?” asked Dr. Rhinehart.
59
The Die is our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed,
And though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;
Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled,
Though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof.
I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my Die
Than to dwell in the tents of consistency.
For the Lord Chance is a sun and a shield:
Chance will give grace and glory and folly and shame:
Nothing will be withheld from them that walk randomly.
O Lord of Chance, My Die, blessed is the man that trusteth in thee.
—from The Book of the Die
60
Dr. Jacob Ecstein reports that his own initial reaction to the playrooms of the Corpus Die Dice Center was one of profound disgust. He could see no sense whatsoever in the required emoting of rage, love, and self-pity. He found himself unable to perform the exercises. For rage he emitted a slight peevishness, for love a hearty bonhomie and for self-pity an utterly blank expression. He indicated that he didn’t understand what self-pity could possibly mean. To help Dr. Ecstein, a teacher (an actual, as contrasted to an acting, dice teacher) spat in his face and urinated on his freshly shined shoes. Dr. Ecstein’s response was instantaneous:
“What’s your problem, buddy?” he asked quietly.
The teacher then went and obtained Miss Marie Z, noted television and screen actress who was in her third week of random life, to come and try to help Dr. Ecstein express love. Dressed in a lovely, soft white evening gown and looking even younger than her twenty-three years, Miss Z, eyes glistening, hands held demurely before her, said to Dr. E in her softest voice:
“Please love me. I need someone to feel love for me. Will you please love me?”
Dr. E squinted at her briefly and then replied:
“How long you felt this way?”
“Please,” Marie begged. “I need your love. I want you to love me, to need me. Please.” A tear glistened at the corner of one eye.
“Who do I remind you of?” Dr. E asked.
“Of only yourself. I have needed your love all my life.”
“But I’m a psychiatrist.”
“Please don’t be a psychiatrist anymore. For one minute, no, for ten seconds, for only ten seconds, I beg of you, give me love. I need so much to feel your strong arms around me, to feel your love …” Marie was close to Dr. E, her beautifully formed bosom heaving with her passionate need to be loved, tears now wetting both her cheeks.
“Ten seconds?” Dr. Ecstein asked.
“Seven seconds. Five. Three seconds, just three seconds please oh please give me your love.”
Dr. Ecstein stood squat and tense and his facial muscles moiled and twitched. His face began to get red. Then, gradually, the moiling stopped and, white-faced, he said:
“Can’t do it. Honesty. Truth. Don’t know what love is.”
“Love me, please love me, please I’m—”
The teacher pulled Marie away and informed her that there was a request for her presence in one of the love rooms, and she skipped off, leaving Dr. E still unloving.
Since self-pity is the hardest emotion of all for emotionless people to feel, the teacher made no further efforts with the basic emotions and took Dr. E to the marriage playroom.
“You have been unfaithful to your wife—” the teacher said.
“What for?” he asked.
“I am only suggesting options. Let us say then you have been faithful to her, but—”
The teacher was interrupted by a short, slightly fat, middle-aged woman coming in and marching up to Dr. Ecstein and screaming in his face:
“You viper! You swine! You beast! You betrayed me!”
“Wai—wait a minute,” Dr. E stammered.
“You and that trollop! How could you?” She hit Dr. E a vi
cious blow on the side of the face, almost breaking his glasses.
“Are you sure?” he said, backing away. “Why are you so upset?”
“Upset!? The whole town talking about you and that cesspool behind my back.”
“But how can anyone know what never—”
“If I know about it, the whole world knows about it.” She hit Dr. E again less strenuously and collapsed on the couch in tears.
“It’s nothing to cry about,” Dr. E said, coming over to comfort her. “Infidelity is a minor matter, really nothing to—”
“Ahhhhggg!!!!” she erupted from the couch, plowed her head into Dr. E’s stomach and sent him crashing over an easy chair onto a telephone table and wastebasket.
“I’m sorry!” Dr. E screamed. The woman on top of him was scratching at his face and he rolled desperately away.
“You bastard!” the woman shouted. “Cold-hearted killer. You’ve never loved me.”
“Of course not,” Dr. E said, scrambling to his feet. “So what’s all the fuss about?”
“Ahhhggg!!!” she screamed and came at—
Later the teacher tried to suggest other possible options to Dr. E.
“Your wife has been unfaithful, your best friend betrayed you, your—”
“So what else is new?” Dr. Ecstein asked.
“Well, let’s say your money has all been lost in foolish investment.”
“Never.”
“Never what?”
“I’d never lose all my money in any way.”
“Try to use your imagination, Jim. The—”
“The name is Jake Ecstein. Why use my imagination? If I’m in touch with reality, why leave it?”
“How do you know it’s reality?”
“How do you know it’s not?” Dr. E asked.
“But if there’s any doubt, then you should experiment with other realities.”
“No doubt in my mind.”
“I see.”
“Look, buddy, I’m here as an observer. I like Luke Rhinehart and want to look over his plant.”
“You can’t understand CETRE without living it.”
“Okay, I’m trying, but don’t expect me to use my imagination.”
Later Dr. Ecstein was taken to the love rooms.
“What kind of love experiences would you like to have?”
“Huh??”
“What kind of sex experiences would you like to have?”
“Oh,” Dr. Ecstein said, “Okay.”
Dice Man Page 28
