'Sure.'
R. stares again serenely out at the television audience, benignly chewing on his pipe. Five seconds, ten, twelve.
`Father Wolfe.' says Mrs. W. in a high-pitched voice.
`My turn?'
[Image of round, red-faced blond-haired Father Wolfe, looking at first uncertainly off toward Mrs. W., then staring into the camera like a prosecuting attorney.]
`Thank you. The religion of the Die is, no matter how Dr. Rhinehart may try to weasel out of it this afternoon, the worship of the Antichrist. There is a moral law, er, a moral order to the universe which God created, and the surrender of one's freewill to the decisions of dice is the most outrageous and complete crime against ah God that I can imagine. It is to surrender to sin without raising a fist. It is the act of a ah coward.
`Cop-out is too mild a word. The religion of the Die is a crime, against ah God and against the dignity and grandeur of man created in ah God's image. Free will distinguishes man from ur God's other creatures. To surrender that gift may well be that sin against the Holy Spirit which is unforgivable. Dr. Rhinehart may be well educated, he may well be a medical doctor, but his so-called er religion of the Die is the most unh poisonous, unh obnoxious and satanic thing I have ever heard of ah.'
`May I comment on that?' says R.'s voice from off-screen, and his image appears, wordless and relaxed, staring out, obviously not intending to speak a single further word. It is as if the channel had been switched every time his face appears on the screen.
Five, seven, eight, ten seconds pass.
`Dr: Dart,' says a subdued female voice.
Dr. Dart appears, young, dynamic, handsome, cigarette smoking, nervous, intense, brilliant.
'I find Dr. Rhinehart's performance today rather amusing, and perfectly consistent with the clinical picture I have formed of him through a reading of his work and through discussions with people who have known him. We can't understand the religion of the Die and the peculiar way it is a cop-out unless we can understand the pathology of its creator and of its followers. Basically, as Dr. Rhinehart himself has acknowledged, he is a schizoid. [The image on the screen becomes that of Dr. Rhinehart, benignly looking at the viewer, and remains through the next part of Dr. Dart's analysis.]
Dr. Rhinehart's alienation and anomie apparently reached such a degree that he lost a single identity and became a multiple personality. The literature is full of case studies of this schizoid type, and he differs from the typical case only in the large number of personalities he is apparently able to adopt. The compulsive nature of this role playing is masked by the use of the dice and by the mumbo-jumbo religion of the Die created around it. The pathological pattern of alienation and anomie is common in our society, and the significant number of people influenced by the religion of the Die manifests the appeal of a verbal structure to mask and support the psychological disintegration which has taken place. [Image of Dr. Dart reappears.] 'The religion of the Die is not so much a cop-out as it is, like all religions, a comforter, a confirmation and, one might say, an elevation of the psychological debilities of the individual who embraces the religion. Passivity before the rigid God of Catholicism or Judaism is one form of cop-out, passivity before the flexible and unpredictable God of chance is another. Both can be understood only in terms of individual and group pathology.'
Dr. Dart turns back to Mrs. Wippleton. Her image appears, serious and sincere.
'What kind of nonsense is that about the rigid God of Judaism?' says Rabbi Fishman's voice from off-screen. 'I'm just reporting commonly accepted psychological theory,' Dart answers.
'If anything is pathological,' says Rabbi Fishman darkly from the screen again, 'it's the sterile pseudo-objectivity of neurotic psychologists pretending to understand spiritual man.'
'Gentlemen,' interposes Mrs. Wippleton with her best smile.
`Catholicism is not the elevation of man's debilities [comes Father Wolfe's 'voice and then face] but of his spiritual grandeur. It is the insect minds of psychologists.'
'Gentlemen'
'Your defensiveness interests me,' says Dr. Dart.
`Our subject today,' interposes a beaming Mrs. Wippleton, 'is the religion of the Die and I for one am anxious to hear what Dr. Rhinehart has to say about the charge that his religion is schizophrenic and pathological.'
[The image of Dr. Rhinehart appears, glowing, friendly, relaxed: Five seconds. Six.] 'I don't understand your silence, Dr. Rhinehart,' says Mrs. Wippleton from off-screen. Not a flicker of change in R.
`This is a typical symptom, Mrs. Wippleton,' says Dr. Dart's voice, 'of the schizophrenic in the catatonic state. Dr. Rhinehart is apparently capable of going in and out of such states almost at will, a most unusual ability. In a few minutes he may be talking so much you won't be able to shut him up.'
Dr. Rhinehart removes the pipe from his mouth and exhales a lungful of fresh air.
'But if I understand you correctly, Dr. Dart,' says Mrs. W., 'then you are saying that Dr. Rhinehart has a form of mental disease which would normally be institutionalized.'
'No, not quite,' says an intense Dr. Dart. 'You see Dr. Rhinehart is a sort of schizophrenic manque, if I may coin a-phrase. His religion has permitted him to do what most schizophrenics are incapable of doing: it justifies and unifies his splintered personality. Without his religion of the Die he would be a hopelessly babbling maniac. With it he can function - function as an integrated, schizophrenic manque of course, but function nevertheless.'
'I find his silence this afternoon senseless, rude and a copout,' says Rabbi Fishman.
'He is afraid to confront the unh American people with the enormity of his ur sin,' says Father Wolfe. 'He cannot answer Truth.'
'Dr. Rhinehart, would you like to answer these charges?' asks Mrs. Wippleton.
[The image of R. slowly removing his pipe, still looking at the viewer.]
'Yes,' he says.
Silence of five seconds, ten. Fifteen.
'But how?'
Dr. Rhinehart is seen now for the second time leaning forward and rubbing his hands together and dropping a die upon
the table next to the untouched cup of brown liquid. A close-up shot magnifies the result: a two. He reverts without a
flicker of expression to his benevolent serenity flowing out to the viewers of the world.
Rabbi Fishman begins speaking and his face appears on the screen.
`This is the sort of imbecility which attracts thousands? It's beyond me. People starving to death in India, the suffering
in Vietnam, our black brothers still with legitimate grievances, and this man, a doctor mind you, sits puffing on an
unlit pipe and playing with dice. He's a Nero fiddling while Rome burns.'
`He's ah ah worse, Rabbi,' says Father Wolfe. 'Nero rebuilt Rome afterward. This man knows only how to destroy.'
Dr. Dart speaks: 'The alienated schizoid experiences both himself and others as objects and is unable to relate to others
except in terms of his fantasy world.'
`And we're not in his fantasy world?' asks Mrs. W.
`We're there. He thinks he's manipulating us with his silence.'
`How can we stop him?'
`By being silent.'
'Oh.'
Rabbi Fishman speaks `Maybe we should talk about something else, Mrs. Wippleton. I hate to see your lovely program
ruined by a loony.'
[The image of Dr. Rhinehart appears and is left there, eyes and pipe leveled at the viewer through all of the next bit of the program.] `Oh thank you, Rabbi Fishman, that's thoughtful of you. But I do think we should try to analyze Dr. Rhineharts
religion. It's what the sponsor paid for.'
`Notice he has no tics.' Dr. D.
'What's that mean?' Rabbi F.
'He's not nervous.'
`Oh.'
'I'd like to answer your second question now, Mrs. Wippleton' [Father W.] 'Er, what's that?'
'Your second question was going to be "Oh my goodn
ess, perhaps we should discuss why the religion of the Die
attracts some people."
'Oh yes? .
`May I give my answer now?, 'Oh yes do. Go ahead.'
Father Wolfe's prosecuting-attorney voice snaps out from the same screen from which looks Dr. Rhinehart.
`The devil has always attracted men through gaudy disguises ah, through bread and circuses ahh and through promises
he cannot fulfil unh. I believe-'
`Wouldn't it be interesting if he never came out of it?' interrupts Rabbi Fishman's voice.
`I beg your pardon, I was speaking.'[Father Wolfe.]
`Oh he'll come out of it says Dr. Dart. `The permanent catatonic looks more tense but less alert. Rhinehart's obviously
just putting on an act'
`How can people be interested in such a nut?' asked Rabbi Fishman.
`I believe he's not always this way, is he?' asks Mrs. Wippleton.
Father Wolfe says: `He talked to me quite pleasantly before we went on the air, but I wasn't fooled. I knew it was just
ah un trick.'
`Dr. Dart, perhaps you'd like to comment on -why the religion of the Die attracts followers,' says Mrs. W.
`Look, he's exhaling again,' says Rabbi Fishman.
`Ignore him,' says Dr. Dart, `we're playing his game.'
Father Wolfe says: `Mrs. Wippleton, I must point out that you asked me to answer that question first and that I was
rudely interrupted by Dr. Dart before I had finished.'
[Silence. The image changes to Mrs. Wippleton, who is sitting wide-eyed and openmouthed looking to her right.]
`Oh my God,' she says.
`Jesus H. Christ,' comes one of the panelists' voices off screen.
[A loud crash and two or three feminine screams from the audience.] `What the hell-is this?'
`STOP THEM!' [Bang.] Mrs. Wippleton, still openmouthed, is seen standing up and fiddling with the microphone at
her neck She tries a smile: `Will the members of the audience please-'
'Ahhhhgggh a long scream.
`Shut her up!'
[The camera jerks a pan over the audience to locate two armed men, one white and one Negro, standing at the door
behind the audience, one looking out, the other glaring at the audience. Then, for obscure reasons, the image of Dr.
Rhinehart returns, removing his pipe, exhaling air, and returning it to his mouth to chew on it.]
`Has Bobby got the elevators?'
`Are we on?'
[Bang, bamtwang.]
`What if they got Bobby?'
`Stay in your seats! Stay in your seats! Or we'll shoot!'
'Are we on?'
'Go ask Eric what's'
Bambambambam.
`LOOK OUT!'
[More gunshots bang away and Rhinehart disappears and is replaced by an armed man falling (clutching his belly).
Two men with pistols fire past the audience at something. One of them falls forward with a groan. The other stops
shooting, but remains looking off intently.]
'Are we on?' comes the masculine voice again. [Dr. Rhinehart's benign face is again the image on the home screen, but not centered, since the camera which happens to be on him and happens to be being transmitted has been deserted by the cameraman, who is sitting quietly now in the audience trying to look natural, which, since everyone else in the audience looks terrified, makes him stand out like a nude at a funeral.]
`All right, Charlie, get your camera aimed over here; our boys in the control room will do the rest.'
`Where's Malcolm? He was going to introduce Arturo.'
'He's 'Oh. Yes.'
`Ladies and gentlemen, Arturo X.'
On the screen Dr. Rhinehart looks out as always.
'Am I on?' says someone's voice.
'Is he on?'
Dr. Rhinehart exhales.
`Where's Eric?'
`What the hell's the matter with you guys in there?' shouts someone.
[The image shifts to a shot of Rabbi Fishman's feet, which are wrapped around each other, and then to Arturo X, who
is standing tensely with his back to .the camera looking off at the control room.] `You're on,' comes a muffled shout.
Arturo turns to face the camera.
`Black brothers and white bastards of the world A gray-flanneled arm and white hand appear around his neck; the face
of Dr. Dart is seen tensely beside and behind that of Arturo.
`Drop your gun, you, or I'll shoot this man,' Dr. Dart says toward his right.
`Inside the control room there, you I' shouts Dr. Dart. `You! Throw down your gun and come out with your hands up.'
Arturo's face begins to show less, strain, and the viewer becomes aware of Dr. Dart's face taking on a strangled look. A
long blacksuited arm and huge white hand are seen now, firmly around his neck, and the face of Dr. Rhinehart, still
with the pipe in his mouth and still with the benign look on his face, appears beside that of Dr. Dart. Arturo breaks
away from Dart and the viewer sees a gun in Dr. Rhinehart's other hand sticking into the side of Dr. Dart.
`What do you want me to shoot now?' an off-screen voice says.
`Shoot me,' says Arturo's voice.
[The image pans slowly from the sedate wrestler's pose of the two psychologists past the terrified and bewildered faces
of Mrs. Wippleton and Rabbi Fishman, past the empty chair of Father Wolfe, to Arturo, still gasping for breath, but
looking intently and sincerely into the camera.]
`Black bastards and white brothers of the world…' begins Arturo. A pained, quizzical expression crosses his face. He
says: `Black brothers and white bastards of the world, we have taken over this television program this afternoon to
bring you some truths they won't tell you on any program except at gunpoint. The black man-'
[A tremendous explosion from the rear of the studio interrupts Arturo. Screams. A single `bang.']
'Fire!!'
[More screams, and several voices pick up the cry of fire. Arturo is staring off to his right and he yells: `Where's Eric?
']
`Let's get out of here!' someone shouts.
Arturo turns nervously back to the camera and begins speaking of the difficulties of being a black person in a white
society and. the difficulties of being able to communicate his grievances to the white oppressors. Smoke drifts across in front of him and coughs, which had come at isolated intervals, now cone from off-screen with machine-gun regularity.
`Tear gas,' yells a voice.
'Oh no,' screams a woman and begins crying.
Bang. Bang bang.
More screams.
`Let's go!' Arturo, glancing continually to his right and occasionally pausing, struggles on with his speech, staring,
whenever he finds the time, sincerely into the camera. ` .. Oppression so pervasive that no black man alive can breathe without seeming to have ten white men standing on his chest. No more shall we lie down before white pigs! No more shall we obey the laws of white injustice! No more
shall we-simper and fawn to watch out over there Ray! - There! to . . . ah . . . white men anywhere. We have abjected ourselves for the last time. No white, no white Ray! There! [Shots are being exchanged off-screen; Arturo is crouching, his face a tangle of terror and hatred, but he struggles on
with his speech.]
'. . . No white can deny us again our right to be heard, our right to say that WE STILL EXIST, that your efforts to
enslave us continue, and WE WILL NOT LIE DOWN FOR YOU any MORE! Ahhhh.'
The 'Ah' at the end of Ids speech was a gentle sound, and as he fell forward onto the floor the last glimpse the Sunday afternoon television audience had of his face showed a look not of fear or hatred but of bewildered surprise. The shouts and groans and shots continued sporadically, smoke or tear gas floating across in front of the TV image of Dr.
Rhinehart, his pipe still emerging in its permanent erection from his mouth, and tears appearing in his eyes. The sound seemed sedate and repetitious compared to the earlier action and hundreds of viewers were about to switch channels when a boy appeared in front of the man with the pipe, longhaired, handsome, blue eyes glittering with tears, dressed in blue jeans and a black shirt open at the neck.
He looked into the camera with steady and serene hatred for about five seconds and then said quietly with only one partial chug spasm: - `I'll be back. Perhaps not next Sunday, but I'll be back: There's rottenness to the way men are forced to live their lives that poisons us all; there's a worldwide war on between those who build and work with the machine that twists and tortures us and those who seek to destroy it. There is a world-wide war on: whose side are you on?'
He evaporates from the screen, leaving only a smoke smudged image of Dr. Rhinehart, crying. He arises now and moves three paces closer to the camera. His head is cut off so that all the viewer sees is the black sweater and suit. His voice is heard, after a brief burst of coughing, quiet and firm: `This program has been brought to you by normal, earnest human beings, without whose efforts it would not have been.'
And the black body disappears, leaving on the screen only the image of an empty chair and a small table with a cup of un-drunk liquid and beside the cup a blurred white speck, like the compressed feather of an angel.
Chapter Ninety-three
In the beginning was Chance, and Chance was with God and Chance was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made by Chance and without him not anything made that was made. In Chance was life and the life was the light of men.
Them was a man sent by Chance, whose name was Luke. The same came for a witness, to bear witness of Whim, that all men through him might believe. He was not Chance, but was sent to bear witness of Chance. That was the true Accident, that randomizes every man that cometh into the world. He was in the world and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own, and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of Chance, even to them that believe accidentally, they which were born, not of blood, nor of, the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of Chance. And Chance was made flesh (and we beheld his glory; the glory as of the only begotten of the Great Fickle Father), and he dwelt among us, full of chaos and falsehood and whim.
The Diceman Page 43
