Luke Rheinhart - The Diceman

Also I must warn you that when my girl took up using the dice and we tried some of those dice sex exercises some real problems developed. The sex exercises were fine, but my girl keeps telling me the Die won't let her see me anymore for a while. Sometimes she makes a date and then breaks it, blaming the Die. Aren't there some sort of rules I can impose on her? Do you have a code of dice ethics for girls I could show her? Also another girl I introduced to the dicelife began insisting that I ought to include as an option that I marry her. I only give it one chance in thirty-six, but she insists I cast the dice about it every time I go out with her. What is the probability of my losing if I date her ten more times? Twenty? Please include a table or graph if possible.

You've got some good ideas, but I hope you do more thinking about how special rules might be developed for girl

dicepeople. I'm getting worried.

Sincerely, George Doog

Chapter Seventy-one

`It's a girl,' Jake said, smiling dazedly.

`I know, Jake. Congratulations.'

`Edgarina,' he went on. `Edgarina Ecstein.'

He looked up at me. `Who named her that?'

'Don't ask silly questions. The baby's healthy, Arlene's healthy, I'm healthy: that's what counts.'

`You're right,' he said. `But do daughters rebel against their mothers too?'

`Here she comes,' I said.

Two nurses wheeled Arlene down the hall and past us into her room and, after she'd settled back into bed, they brought

the baby in for her to hold. Jake and I watched benevolently. The baby squirmed a bit and hissed, but didn't say much.

`How'd it go, Arlene?' I asked.

`It was a snap,' she said, cuddling the child against her swollen breasts and smiling ecstatically. She stared at her infant

and smiled and smiled.

`Doesn't she look just like Eleanor Roosevelt as a baby?' she said.

Jake and I looked; I think we both concluded it might be true.

`Edgarina has dignity,' I said.

`She's born for greatness,' Arlene said, kissing the top of the baby's head. 'Die willing.'

`Or nothingness,' I said. `You don't want to force any patterns on her, Arlene.'

`Except for making her cast the dice about everything she does, I plan to let her be entirely free.'

`Oh Jesus, Jesus,' said Jake.

`Cheer up, Jake,' I said, putting my arm around him. `Don't you realize that as a scientist you're getting in on the

ground floor of something which is of immense scientific importance?'

'Maybe,' he said.

`No matter how Edgarina turns out under Arlene's regime, it's scientifically significant. Genius or psychotic, something

new has been demonstrated.'

Jake perked up a bit.

`I suppose you're right,' he said.

`This may be your greatest case study since "The Case of the Six-Sided man."

'Jake looked up at me, beaming.

`Maybe I ought to do some more experimenting with the dicelife,' he said.

`You'll need a title, of course,' I went on.

`You certainly should,' Arlene snapped at Jake. `Any father of Edgarina Ecstein had better be a full-fledged diceperson

or I'll disown and discredit him.'

Jake sighed.

`That won't be necessary, honey,' he said.

` "A Case of Random Rearing,"' I suggested. `Or perhaps, "Dieper Training."

'Jake shook his head slowly and then squinted aggressively up at me.

`Don't bother trying, Luke. It's beyond your depth. The title has already been made: "The Case of the Child of Whim."'

He sighed. `The book may take a little longer.'

Chapter Seventy-two

The sun dazzled down and warmed and softened my mountain of flesh. I writhed myself deeper into the hot sand,

feeling the rays above like long-range caresses on my skin. Linda lay beside me, bikinied and beautiful, her lovely breasts breathing skyward against the strip of cloth that was theoretically a bikini top like two fruit growing and shrinking in a speeded-up biological film of the growing process. She had been reading Stendhal's The Charterhouse of Parma and we had been talking about group dice therapy, but for the last fifteen minutes we had both lain silently, enjoying the solitude of the vast expanse of the Bahamas beach and the love-making of the hot touch of the sun. It was February in New York, but summer bare.

`What do you really want, Luke?' Linda suddenly asked. From the smudge at the corner of my half-closed eyes I

gathered she had sat up or raised herself on an elbow.

`Want?' I said, thinking. The rhythmic thud of the surf thirty yards away made me long for a swim, but we'd only been

out of the water for fifteen minutes and were only just now dry.

`Everything I guess,' I finally said. `To be everybody and do everything.'

She tossed her hair back away from her face with one hand and said `That's modest of you.'

`Probably.'

A sea gull careered into my reduced field of vision and then out again.

'You've been sort of quiet today. Just another dice-decision?'

`I've just been sleepy all the time.'

`My ass. Is it a dice decision?'

`What difference does it make?'

She was definitely sitting up, her legs spread, leaning back on her upright arms. `I sometimes wonder what you want, not the dice.' `Who's me?' `That's what I want to know.' I sat up, blinking my eyes and looking toward the ocean past the rise of sand in front of me. Without my glasses it was

a tan blur and blue blur.

`But don't you see,' I said. `To know "me" that way is to limit me, cement me into something stonelike and predictable.' `Diceshit! I just want to know a you that's soft and predictable. How am I supposed to enjoy being with you if I feel

you can go "goof" any minute from some random fall of a die?'

I sighed and lowered myself back onto my elbows.

`Were I a healthy, normal neurotic human lover, my love might evaporate any moment in just as haphazard a fashion.'

`But then I could see it coming; I could run out on you first.' She smiled.

I sat abruptly up.

`Everything may evaporate at any instant. Everything!' I said with surprising vehemence. `You, me, the most rocklike

personality since Calvin Coolidge: death, destruction, despair may strike. To live your life assuming otherwise is

insanity.'

`But Luke,' she said putting a warm hand on my shoulder. `Life's going to go on more or less the same and ourselves

too. If -'

`Never!'

She didn't speak. She slid her hand gently from my shoulder to the back of my neck and it played there with my hair.

After a few moments I said quietly: `I love you, Linda. The "I" that loves you will always love you. Nothing is more

certain than that.'

`But how long will this "I" last?'

'Forever,' I said.

Her hand became motionless.

`Forever?' she said in a very low voice.

`Forever. Maybe even longer.'

I turned on to my side and took her hand and kissed the palm. I looked into her eyes with a playful smile.

Staring seriously back at me, she said `But that "I" which loves me may be replaced by a different, unloving "I" and be

forced to live forever underground and unexpressed?'

I nodded, still smiling.

"The "I" that loves you would like to arrange things so that the whole rest of my life is fixed to guarantee the continued fulfillment of himself. But it would mean the permanent burial of most of the other "I's.' `But ego or no ego, there are natural desires and imposed actions: To come over on top of me and fuck would be a

natural act; to follow the fall of a die and kneel in the sand to jerk off wouldn't.'

I maneuvered myself clumsily into a kneeling position in the sand and began to lower my swim-trunks.

`O Jesus,' Linda said. `Me and my big mouth.'

But I smiled and pulled up my trunks. `You're right,' I said, and moved myself over and lay my head naturally onto her