Luke Rheinhart - The Diceman

Her mouth neatly opened, revealing two precisely parallel rows of crooked teeth.

`As of tomorrow morning.'

`But - but Dr. Rhinehart, I don't under `It's simple, knee-knocker. I've been hornier in the last few weeks, want a

receptionist who's a good lay.'

`Dr. Rhinehart-'

`You're efficient, but you've got a flat ass. Hired a 38-24-37 who knows all about fellatio, post hoc propter id,

soixante-neuf, gesticulation and proper filing procedures.'

She was backing slowly towards Dr. Ecstein's office, eyes bulging, teeth gleaming like two parallel armies in disarray.

`She starts tomorrow morning,' I went on. `Has her own contraceptive device, I understand. You'll get full pay through

the end of the century. Good-bye and good luck.'

I had begun jogging in place about halfway through my tirade and at its conclusion I sprinted neatly into my office.

Miss Reingold was last seen sprinting not so neatly into Jake's.

I assumed the traditional lotus position on my desk and wondered what Miss Reingold would do with my chaotic

cruelties. After minimal investigation I concluded that she had been given something to fill her dull life. I pictured her years hence with two dozen nieces and nephews clustered around her chubby knees telling them about the wicked doctor who stuck pins in patients and raped others and, under the influence of LSD and imported Scotch, fired good, hard-working people and replaced them with raving nymphomaniacs.

Feeling superior in my imaginative faculties and uncomfortable in my yoga position I stretched both arms upward. A knock on the door. .

`Yo!' I answered, arms still outstretched, my tuxedo straining grotesquely. Jake stuck his head in.

`Say, Luke, baby, Miss Reingold was telling me som-' He saw me. Jake's habitual piercing squint couldn't quite

negotiate the sight: he blinked twice.

`What's up, Luke?' he asked tentatively.

I laughed. `Oh this,' I said, fingering the tuxedo. `Late party last night. I'm trying to wake myself up before Osterflood

comes. Hope I didn't upset Miss R: He hesitated, his chubby neck and round face still the only parts of him which had

eased their way into the room.

`Well,' he said, `yeah. She says you fired her.'

`Nonsense,' I replied. `I was telling her a joke I heard at the party last night; it was a little raunchy perhaps, but nothing

that would upset Mary Magdalen.'

`Yeah,' he said, his traditional squint gathering strength, his glasses like two flying saucers with slits concealing deadly ray guns. `Righto,' he said. `Sorry to bother you.' His face vanished, the door eased shut. While meditating I was interrupted a few minutes later by the door opening and

Jake's glasses reappearing.

`She wants me to make sure she's not fired.'

`Tell her to come to work tomorrow fully prepared.'

`Righto.'

When Osterflood strode in I was limping around the room trying to get the circulation back into my feet' He walked

automatically to the couch but I stopped him.

`No you don't, Mr. O. Today you sit over there and I'll use the couch.'

I made myself comfortable while he lumbered uncertainly to the chair behind my desk.

`What's the matter. Dr. Rhinehart, do you-'

`I feel elated today,' I began, noting in the corner of the ceiling an impressive cobweb. For how many years had my

patients been staring at that? `I feel I've made a major breakthrough on the road to the New Man.'

`What new man?'

`The Random Man. The unpredictable man. I feel today I am demonstrating that habits can be broken. That man is

free.'

`I wish I could break my habit of raping little girls,' he said, trying to get the focus back on himself.

`There's hope, Oh there's hope. Just do the opposite of everything you normally do. If you feel like raping them,

shower them with candy and kindness and then leave. If you feel like beating a whore, have her beat you. If you feel

like seeing me, go to a movie instead.'

`But that's not easy. I like hurting people.'

`True, but you may find you'll get a kick out of kindness, too. Today, for example, I found running to work much more

meaningful than my usual cab ride. I also found my cruelty to Miss Reingold, refreshing. I used to enjoy being nice to

her.'

`I wondered why she was crying. What happened?'

`I accused her of bad breath and body odor.'

`Jesus.'

`Yes.'

`That was a horrible thing to do. I'd never do a thing like that.'

`I hope not. But the city health authorities had issued a formal complaint that the entire building was beginning to

stink. I had no choice.'

In the ensuing silence I heard his chair squeak; he may have tipped back in it, but from where I lay I couldn't tell. I

could see only part of two walls, bookcases, books, my cobweb and a single small portrait of Socrates draining the

hemlock. My taste in soothing pictures for patients seemed dubious.

`I've been pretty cheerful lately too,' Osterflood said meditatively, and I realized I wanted to get the focus back on my

problems.

`Of course, habit breaking can also be a chore,' I said. 'For example, I find it difficult to improvise new methods and

places for urinating.'

`I think . . . I almost think you may have brought me toward a breakthrough,' Osterflood said, ignoring me.

`I'm particularly concerned with my next bowel movement,' I went on. `There seem to be definite limits as to what

society will stand for. All sorts of eccentricity and nonsensical horrors can be permitted - wars, murder, marriage, slums - but that bowel movements should be made anywhere except in the toilet seems to be pretty universally considered despicable.'

`You know that if . . . I felt that if I could just kick my little girl addiction, just … lose interest, I'd be all right. The big

ones don't mind, or can be bought'

`Also locomotion. There are only a certain number of limited ways of moving from spot A to spot B. Tomorrow, for

example, I won't feel free to jog to work. What can I do? Walk backward?'

I looked over to Osterflood with a serious frown, but he was immersed in his own thoughts.

`But now … lately … I got to admit it … I seem to be losing my interest in little girls.'

`Walking backwards a solution, of course, but only a temporary one. After that and crawling and running backward

and hopping on one foot, I'll feel confined, limited, repetitious, a robot'

`And that's good, I know it is. I mean I hate little girls and now that I'm less interested in fucking them I feel that's …

definitely an advance.'

He looked down at me sincerely and I looked sincerely back.

`Conversations too are a problem,' I said. `Our syntax is habitual, our diction, our coherence. I have a habit of logical

thought which clearly must be broken. And vocabulary. Why do I accept the limits of our habitual words. I'm a clod! A clod!'

`But … but … lately … I'm afraid … I've sensed … I'm almost afraid to say it…'

`Umpwillis. Art fodder. Wishmonger. Gladsull. Parminkson. Jombie. Blit. Why not? Man has limited himself

artificially to the past. I feel myself breaking free.'

`. . that I'm, I feel I'm beginning to want, to be like . . . little boys.'

`A breakthrough. A definite breakthrough if I can continue to contradict my habitual patterns as I have this morning.

And sex. Sexual patterns must be broken too . .

`I mean really like them,' he said emphatically; `Not want to rape them or hurt them or anything like that, just bugger

them and have them suck me off.'

`Possibly this experiment could get me into dangerous ground. I suppose since I've habitually not been interested in

raping little girls that theoretically I ought to try it.'