Luke Rheinhart - The Diceman

The first bi-annual fate-dealing day had arrived - a momentous occasion. I blessed the dice in the name of Nietzsche, Freud, Jake Ecstein and Norman Vincent Peale and shook them in the bowl of my hands, rattling them hard against my palms. I gurgled with anticipation: the next half-year of my life, perhaps even more, trembled in my hands. The dice tumbled across the desk; there was a six and there was a … three. Nine - survival, anticlimax, in-conclusion, even disappointment; the dice had ordered me to decide anew each month what my special fate was to be.

Chapter Twenty-three

National Habit-Breaking Month must have been dictated by the die in a fit of pique over my easy enjoyment of my dicelife; the month provided a hundred little blasts toward the breaking up of Lucius Rhinehart, M.D. Habit breaking had won out over (1) dedicated psychiatrist month, (2) begin-writing-a-novel month, (3) vacation-in-Italy month, (4) be-kind-to everybody month, and (5) help-Arturo-X month. The command was, to be precise, `I will attempt at every moment of every day of this month to alter my habitual behavior patterns.'

First of all it meant that when I rolled over to cuddle Lil at dawn I had to roll back again and stare at the wall. After staring a few minutes and then beginning to doze off, I realized that I never rose at dawn, so with effort and resentment, I got out of bed. Both feet were in my slippers and I was plodding toward the bathroom before I realized habit had me in his fist. I kicked off my slippers and plodded, then jogged into the living room. I still, however, felt like urinating. Triumphantly, I did so in a vase of artificial gladioli. (Three days later Dr. Felloni remarked on how well they seemed to be doing.) A few minutes later I woke up in the same standing position, conscious that I still had a silly proud smile on my face. Careful examination of my conscience revealed that I did not make a habit of falling asleep on my feet after urinating is the living room so I let myself doze off again.

`What are you doing?' a voice said through my sleep.

`Huh?'

`Luke, what are you doing?'

`Oh.'

I saw Lil standing nude with her arms folded across her chest looking at me.

`I'm thinking.'

`What about?'

`Dinosaurs.'

`Come back to bed.'

`All right.'

I started to follow her back to bed but remembered that following nude women into beds was habitual. When Lil had

plopped in and pulled the blankets over her I crawled under the bed.

'Luke???'

I didn't answer.

The squeak of springs and the wandering low-cloud ceiling above me implied that Lil was leaning over first on one

and then on the other side of the bed. The spread was lifted and her upside-down face peered into my sideways face.

We looked at each other for thirty seconds. Without a word her face disappeared and the bed above me became still.

`I want you,' I said. `I want to make love to you.'

(The prosaicness of the prose was compensated for by the poetry of my position.) When the silence continued I felt an

admiration for Lil. Any normal, mediocre woman would have (a) sworn, (b) looked under the bed again, or (c) shouted

at me. Only a woman of high intelligence and deep sensitivity would have remained silent.

`I'd love to have your prick inside me,' her voice suddenly said.

I was frightened: a contest of wills. I must not reply habitually.

`I want your left knee,' I said.

Silence.

`I want to come between your toes,' I went on.

`I want to feel your Adam's apple bob up and down,' she said.

Silence.

I began humming `The Battle Hymn of the Republic.'

I lifted the springs above me with all my might. She rolled off to one side. I changed my position to try to push her

off. She rolled back into the middle. My arms were exhausted. Although whatever I did from under the bed was, a

priori, a non-habitual act, my back was aching. I got out from under, stood up and stretched.

`I don't like your games, Luke,' Lil said quietly.

`The Pittsburgh Pirates have won three games in a row but remain mired in third place.'

`Please come to bed and be yourself.'

`Which one?'

`Any one except this morning's version.'

Habit pulled me toward the bed, the dice pulled back.

`I have to think about dinosaurs,' I said and, realizing I'd said it in my normal voice, I repeated it shouting. When I saw

that I had used my habitual shout I started to emit a third version, but-realized that three of anything approached habit

and so half-shouted, half-mumbled, `Breakfast with dinosaurs in bed,' and went into the kitchen.

Halfway there I tried to vary my walk and ended up crawling the last fifteen feet.

`What are you doing, Daddy?'

Larry stood sleepy-eyed but fascinated in the entrance to the kitchen. I didn't want to upset him. I had to watch my

words carefully.

`I'm looking for mice.'

`Oh boy, can I look?'

`No, they're dangerous.'

`Mice?'

`These mice are man-eaters.'

`Oh Daddy .. : [Scornfully].'

`I'm teasing [An habitual phrase; I shook my head].'

'Go back to be - [Another!]'

`Look under your mother's bed, I think they may have gone under there.'

Not a great many seconds later Larry came back from our bedroom accompanied by a bathrobed Lil. I was on my

knees at the stove about to heat a pot of water.

`Don't you involve the children in your games.'

Since I never lose my temper at Lil I lost it.

`Shut your mouth! You'll scare them all away.'

`Don't you say shut up to me!'

`One more word out of you and I'll ram a dinosaur down your throat.'

I stood up and strode toward her, fists clenched.

They both looked terrified. I was impressed.

`Go back to bed, Larry,' Lil said, shielding him and backing away.

`Get down on your knees and pray for mercy, Lawrence, NOW!' Larry ran for his bedroom, crying.

'Fie upon you!'

'Don't you dare hit me.'

`My God, you're insane,' Lil said.

I hit her, rather restrainedly; on the left shoulder.

She hit me, rather unrestrainedly, in the left eye.

I sat down on the kitchen floor.

`For breakfast is what?'

I asked, at least reversing the syntax.

`Are you through?'

`I surrender everything.'

`Come back to bed.'

`Except my honor.'

`You can keep your honor in your underwear; but come back to bed and behave.'

I jogged back to bed ahead of Lil and lay as rigid as a board for forty minutes at which point Lil commanded me to

get out of bed. Immediately and rigidly I obeyed. I stood like a robot beside the bed.

`Relax,' she commanded irritably from the dresser.

I collapsed to the floor, ending as painlessly as possible on my side and back. Lil came over and looked down at me

for a moment and then kicked me in the thigh. `Act normal,' she said.

I rose, did six squats arms extended and went to the kitchen.

For breakfast I had a hot dog, two pieces of uncooked carrot, coffee with lemon and maple syrup, and toast cooked

twice until it was blackened with peanut butter and radish. Lil was furious; primarily because both Larry and Evie wanted desperately to have for breakfast what I was having and ended up crying in frustration. Lil too. - I jogged down Fifth Avenue from my apartment to my office, attracting considerable attention since I was (1) jogging: (2) gasping like a fish drowning in air; and (3) dressed in a tuxedo over a red T-shirt with large white letters declaring The Big Red.

At the office Miss Reingold greeted me formally, neutrally and; I must admit, with secretarial aplomb. Her cold, ugly

efficiency stimulated me to break new ground in our relationship.

`Mary Jane, baby,' I said. `I've got a surprise this morning. I've decided to fire you.'