The Search for the Dice Man (9 page)

Honoria strode off after our greeter.

‘Come on,’ she said without looking back. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

As we followed our jovial greeter we began to notice that things were not as normal as they first appeared. Many of the stores had names playing on the words ‘dice’ or ‘chance’ or ‘Luke.’ A boutique was ‘Difashions’, a bar was the ‘Snakeyes’, the bank was the ‘Lukedom Bank & Chance Co.’ A wooden, very New Englandy church across the street from us looked charmingly nineteenth-century except for the steeple: on the top was a neon green die rotating in the wind like a weather vane.

And I began to realize that the people weren’t totally normal. They were dressed in too great a variety of styles for a simple country town. Some looked as if they’d just eaten at Luccis or Sardis while others looked as if they might be turned away from Burger King. Some women paraded down the sidewalk as if they were out on a fashion ramp in Paris while other women dressed like truck drivers or hippie retards.

When Honoria saw a fashionably-dressed woman walking sedately along the dirt path accompanied by a man in a business suit she paused to smile at me.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘Either there are actually a few normal human beings living here or … tourists.’ She groaned lightly when she realized the second alternative was more likely.

‘Welcome Centre’ was the sign over the large wooden building that our greeter had brought us to. It looked as if it might have been a warehouse in an earlier incarnation. We followed him in.

‘Hi there!’ beamed a vigorous young woman with mannish blonde-streaked hair and snapping brown eyes. She didn’t quite smile but exuded a purposeful energy and control. ‘I’m Wendy. Have you done any diceliving before?’

‘I’m Larry Rhinehart,’ I said, halting. ‘We’re not here for any of that crap; we’re here to try to locate Luke Rhinehart.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ Wendy replied with barely a blink. ‘If you know it’s shit you must have tried it?’

‘We haven’t tried it,’ I snapped back. ‘We don’t want to try it. We just want to find someone who might help me locate my father.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Wendy, who seemed to find everything of a high quality. ‘That would be Rabbi Ecstein. But you really ought to try die-ing: you’d benefit.’

I gave Wendy my best glare and then said softly: ‘Where can I find Mr Ecstein?’

‘The church, usually,’ Wendy said brightly. ‘Of course, like everyone else he may be someone else today.’

‘Wonderful,’ commented Honoria.

When we were out of Wendy’s earshot, she whispered, ‘That is one scary female …’

When Wendy released them they went looking for Luke Rhinehart’s old friend and rival Dr Jake Ecstein. Jake had been a brilliant and eminent New York psychiatrist back in the late sixties and early seventies. Although his vibrant coarseness made him sometimes resemble a used-car salesman in a late-night TV ad, he was in fact a man who not only understood Freud considerably better than anyone, including Freud, but could brilliantly see how to convert this knowledge into fame and fortune. Jake was a successful yuppie long before a naïve world had even coined the word, much less realized that it was the wave of the (brief) future. Jake loved money and fame and saw his brilliance as a lucky talisman capable of converting knowledge into bucks.

He liked Luke Rhinehart but thought Luke was a jerk for having no interest in or aptitude for money. When Luke suddenly began behaving weirdly and doing strange things with his patients Jake worried about it, but didn’t feel like doing anything about it until he heard Luke’s theory about the human problem and its possible solution. That some people were stuck with one narrow personality and miserable as a result seemed reasonable to Jake. On the other hand, curing their misery by making decisions with dice, expanding each person’s life so he could enjoy many different attitudes, beliefs and activities was clearly weird. But when patients began to respond to this therapy and Luke began to get a little famous, Jake decided Luke might be on to something. Far be it from him (Jake) to challenge the eternal idiocy of human beings. If they found happiness with dice then
Jake would become the most brilliant dice therapist of them all. And he did.

By the time the disgrace and disappearance of Luke caused the whole movement to crash, Jake had become too fascinated by chance and multiplicity to go back to his old life. He found that fame and fortune were strangely irrelevant, especially since he had lost both. He, like Luke, lost his psychiatric practice, his wealth, his reputation, his wife and family, and all those friends who were so drawn to him because of his fame and fortune. And for the last fifteen years he, like Luke, had essentially disappeared, although he still poured out a prodigious series of articles, case histories and books on personality theory and modes of therapy, the only difference being he had them published under a half-dozen aliases.

Larry and Honoria found him, as predicted, in the church, which was as unconventional inside as was the die on the steeple outside. Although there were bench pews and a stage with an altar, the stained-glass windows had pictures not only of Christ and Buddha but of Moses and Mohammed and a few other dark-skinned men Larry didn’t recognize. And one, Larry suddenly realized with suppressed rage, which was clearly of Luke Rhinehart.

In addition to crosses and six-sided stars on the walls there were also dice. And – Larry and Honoria both had to stare at it for several seconds to be sure – a huge tapestry depicting the Last Supper: thirteen bearded men arranged around a long table, but in the centre, in place of Jesus was a bearded Luke, and instead of eating, the thirteen all seemed to be playing dice.

Honoria poked Larry and gestured towards the tapestry.

‘I’m glad your father isn’t a megalomaniac,’ she said.

‘Larry, baby, long time no see!’

A grey-haired portly man with thick glasses came wobbling down the aisle towards them, arms outspread, a big smile on his face. Dressed completely in black, he stopped several feet from Larry and cocked his head to one side.

‘Hard to believe you’re the same little fella I used to totally ignore back when Luke was still acting like your papa,’ he said, still smiling. ‘You’ve gotten big, and from the looks of that car out there you’re doing all right for yourself, huh?’ He winked. ‘And this gorgeous lady here’s all right too. Luke would be proud.’

‘You’re Dr Ecstein?’ Larry asked.

‘Call me Uncle Jake,’ said Jake. ‘That’s what your father used to try to get you to call me back in the good old days.’

‘Where’s my father?’

‘He’s fine, I guess,’ said Jake, suddenly bounding forward and grabbing Larry’s lifeless hand and pumping it vigorously. ‘Lost a little hair over the years, but –‘

‘Where is he?’

‘Here and there, there and here; aren’t you going to introduce me? Your gal here must be embarrassed.’

Larry pulled his hand free from Jake’s and stared down at the smaller man.

‘I’m not his gal,’ announced Honoria. ‘I’m Honoria Battle. We haven’t much time to waste here, Dr Ecstein, so if you could just steer us to Larry’s father we’d appreciate it.’

‘Hey, terrific. I’m Jake Ecstein,’ said Jake. ‘Used to be a psychiatrist and am now a healer of souls. Also Larry’s sometime Uncle. You can call me “Master” or, if you’re feeling Jewish, Rabbi.’ He laughed.

‘Where’s my father?’ insisted Larry.

‘Hey hey,’ Jake said, bouncing away from Larry and Honoria towards the altar. ‘I haven’t seen you in almost fifteen, sixteen years and you’re all business.’

‘I want to know where he is!’

Jake stopped near the altar and turned. He was suddenly serious. He cleared his throat and folded his two hands over his belly in a somewhat reverential pose.

‘It’s not that easy, my son,’ he said.

‘I don’t care whether it’s hard or easy,’ said Larry. ‘Just tell me all you know.’

Jake shook his head and looked either sad or devout.

‘No, no, my son,’ he countered. ‘Luke has left very explicit instructions about who is to be told about him or about where he might be, and it isn’t simple, not simple at all.’

Larry moved closer to him, Honoria following reluctantly. ‘Then you
know
where he is?’

‘Didn’t say that,’ Jake replied, looking a little sly. ‘I just said that Luke has set up definite steps before I can tell anyone anything I might know about him.’

‘I’m his son!”

‘Oh, yes, oh, yes,’ said Jake. ‘Luke said you might be along one of these decades and he said to treat you just like the rest.’

‘How nice of him!’ Larry blurted.

‘Well, maybe,’ said Jake. ‘Maybe not. Anyway, if you want to know more about him and where he might be you have to follow the rules.’

‘Fuck the rules!’ said Larry.

‘I’m afraid it’s the only way,’ said Jake.

Larry turned to Honoria as if for help against the flood of insanity that kept rushing at him. Honoria shook her head and shrugged.

‘I warned you,’ she said, folding her arms.

‘What are these rules you’re talking about?’ Larry asked.

Jake raised his hands off his belly and rubbed them together in front of him. Then he raised them further, palms pressed together as if about to begin a prayer, and held them just beneath his chin.

‘Well, there are really only two, I guess,’ he said. ‘And not hard at all – assuming you really want to find out more about Luke.’

‘The rules!’ muttered Larry.

‘Ground rules actually,’ said Jake. ‘The first one is that you must live here in Lukedom for at least a week.’ He stopped and suddenly beamed at Larry and Honoria.

‘A week!’ said Honoria. ‘My God, the markets could collapse in a week! I’ve got a job!’

That’s the first ground rule,’ said Jake. ‘Just live here in our community for at least a week.’

‘Go on,’ said Larry.

A slight frown appeared on Jake’s round face. He sniffed.

‘Well, number two number two is a little trickier,’ he said. ‘You must you must undergo training with one of our diceguides.’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Larry.

‘You don’t have to agree to anything,’ Jake interrupted hastily. ‘I mean you can make fun of the guide and everything he says and does, that’s fine, but you have to undergo the brief training.’

‘I won’t do it,’ Larry said. ‘I’m not hanging out here for a week even if I were sure it would let me find my father the next day.’

‘Nor I,’ announced Honoria. ‘We’re too old for die-per training.’ And she rolled her eyes at her bad pun.

‘It’s really not bad,’ Jake urged. ‘Just give it a try.’

‘No. I’d like to find my father, but I’m not going to give in to his sick ways to do it.’

This time Jake was silent and Honoria began to move restlessly away.

‘Hey, wait a minute,’ said Larry, after he himself had begun to move towards the door. He came back towards Jake. ‘Say, Dr Ecstein …’ he began musingly.

‘Master Ecstein, please,’ Jake interrupted happily. ‘Or Father Ecstein, or Rabbi.’

Larry shook his head.

‘Master Ecstein … you know I’m Luke’s son. You can see how important it is that I find my father. Can’t you make an exception?’

‘Nope.’

‘But why don’t you cast the dice to determine whether you make an exception or not?’

Jake’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Mmmmm,’ he said.

‘You really should,’ Larry went on, smiling at his hoisting a diceperson with his own petard. ‘It’s an important decision and you ought to let the Lord Chance have an opportunity to speak.’

‘Mmmmm.’

‘Let’s go, Larry, we’ll find another way,’ said Honoria. She was watching Jake, who was staring at the floor, his hands again folded over his ample belly. She came up and took Larry’s hand and began to lead him out of the church.

‘OK,’ said Jake. ‘You got it. I’ll consult the dice.’

Jake marched smartly up three steps to the stage and then over to the altar. There he picked up a large, four-inch per side green die with some sort of battery-operated light inside that made it glow eerily. Jake began to mumble something that sounded suspiciously like Latin being pronounced by a retarded aborigine. Then he announced: ‘Odd I’ll make an exception, even I won’t.’

As he raised the green die above his head, he concluded with ‘Thy Will be done …’ then dropped the die on to the altar in front of him.

He looked at it.

‘Nope, a six,’ he said. ‘You have to follow the two ground rules.’

I must admit that the meeting with Jake left me shaken. Somehow I must have imagined that it would he relatively simple to locate my father once I’d found Lukedom or Jake. I’d forgotten that my father believed that easy solutions never lead to growth: that life had to be hard in order to get interesting.

Honoria was tired and irritable; all she wanted to do was leave as fast as possible, and I didn’t blame her. But when we got to the parking lot the Mercedes was gone. We stared in confusion at the empty spot.

‘The dice said he ought to borrow the car,’ the chubby man who’d initially greeted us explained. ‘Rick likes to give the dice that particular option.’

‘But I’ve got the keys,’ I said. ‘And the car’s got a sophisticated anti-theft device.’

‘Rick never uses keys,’ said the man. ‘Lack of challenge, he says. He used to instal those device things.’

‘You mean you just stood there while some hotwire artist broke into our car and took it off for a joy ride,’ said Honoria.

‘I don’t meddle,’ said the man.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she said. ‘Where’s the police station?’

‘Two blocks down on your left,’ said the man.

The police station was no more than a two-room shack stuck between two larger clapboard houses. A man in a blue uniform with a star announced he was the chief, but when we stated our problem he shook his head sadly.

‘He’s a troublemaker, that one,’ he said. ‘I’ll arrest him soon’s he gets back.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ said Honoria. ‘When will that be?’

‘Before midnight,’ said the chief. ‘Those are the rules.’

‘He’s done this before?’ asked Honoria, like me still grappling with the abnormality of it all.

‘I’m afraid so,’ the chief answered. ‘He’s got a record longer than Pretty Boy Floyd’s. ’Course he doesn’t mean any harm. Just a teenager trying to find himself.’

‘Well, tell him to find himself with someone else’s car,’ I said. ‘And if there’s the slightest scratch on it I’m suing your town.’

‘Yep,’ said the police chief. ‘Lots of luck.’

We retreated from the police station and wandered down the street, both trying to control our frustration and anger.

‘I can’t believe it!’ said Honoria.

‘Goddamn it, that cop acted as if stealing my car was some game.’

‘He didn’t act much like a cop.’

‘You don’t let people run off with a fifty-thousand-dollar car.’

‘If they let people steal,’ said Honoria, stopping and glaring at me as if I were personally responsible, ‘what else are they allowed to do until midnight?’

‘Ah, shit,’ I said, ‘I don’t know and I don’t care. We don’t seem to be getting anyplace towards finding my father.’

‘We should leave.’

I laughed.

‘Absolutely. All we need is my car.’

Eventually we realized we were stuck and decided to spend the night at the local hotel. Assuming the car was returned as promised, we’d leave the next morning. It was possible we might still learn something before we left.

The Do Dice Inn appeared to be a normal small country hotel. The sample room we were shown was large and comfortable with old furnishings that reminded me
vaguely of those at Arlene’s. I was feeling irritable enough without this new reminder of my father.

We had dinner in the hotel restaurant, where both the service and food varied from good to godawful. Although my roast beef was tender and juicy the ‘chef’s sauce’ was definitely Heinz ketchup. And the salad looked suspiciously as if it had been rescued from a garbage can.

‘Do you think someone might let the dice tell him to poison us?’ Honoria asked after we’d seen the salad and pushed it aside.

‘No, no, they couldn’t go that far,’ I assured her, but we both poked and prodded the rest of our meal as if looking for hidden razor blades.

The bill was unique. Each item had a range of prices which were then chosen at random by the dieregister for each customer. My meal was: $0.15 for the soup, $13.50 for the garbage salad. $22.95 for the roast beef, and $4.00 for the coffee. Honoria’s bill for essentially the same meal was $2.25 for the soup, $0.50 for the salad, $3.00 for the roast beef, and $0.05 for the coffee. Thus I had to pay $40.60, while her meal cost only $5.80.

‘Do you take credit cards?’ I asked the waiter, then realized I wasn’t certain I wanted them to have my card in their hands for a single second.

‘Oh, no, sir.’ he said. ‘I’m afraid not. Only cash or work vouchers.’

‘Work vouchers?’

‘Yes, sir. In case you might want to clean the floors or do the dishes or prepare the salads.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He then made me cast a die to determine how much I tipped him.

Later, as we were passing through the bar area on the way out of the restaurant we had a new encounter that didn’t help our dispositions.

‘H-e-e-a-y, sweetheart, don’t go,’ said a grinning young
man in a black leather jacket, jeans and cowboy boots. He was seated at the end of the bar and holding open his arms as if in greeting.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Honoria, halting in front of him and tilting her head askance to give him a disdainful look. She was used to doubletakes and flattery, but not this type of approach from a rather crude-looking young man.

‘I’ve been wanting to meet a fox like you all my life,’ the young man went on, sliding off his seat to look her up and down with a nervous leer. ‘Hi,’ he said turning to me, his large brown eyes sparkling. ‘You mind if I date her tonight?’

‘That’s very gallant, but Larry does not decide my fate just yet,’ said Honoria coldly.

‘Excellent,’ he said, moving closer to Honoria. His smooth tanned skin, big brown eyes, mass of curly brown hair and babyish grin combined to make him look no more than seventeen or eighteen. ‘What shall we do then? You want to go for a drive?’

‘I’m on my way to bed,’ announced Honoria firmly.

‘All r-iiiight!! This is better than a wet dream. We’ll skip the car ride. You’re hot to trot, huh?’

‘Larry, how long are you going to let this high-school dropout insult me?’ Honoria asked me. ‘Get me out of here!’

‘I thought you were handling it,’ I said, taking her elbow and trying to lead her away.

‘Hey,’ said Rick. ‘I thought you were your own woman.’

‘I am!’ said Honoria, pulling away from me impatiently. ‘I’m in no mood for any of this. I don’t want to talk to you or see you, so just back off!’

‘High-strung,’ the young man said to me. ‘A real handful, I bet.’

‘Come on, let’s go,’ I said, again taking Honoria by the arm.

‘Hit him!’ she said, her voice rising.

‘What!?’

‘I said hit him! He’s insulting us both.’ She had her fists clenched and looked ready to hit him herself.

I turned back reluctantly to the teenager.

‘Fuck off,’ I said.

He was shaking his head sadly.

‘I can’t fight,’ he said, adjusting his leather jacket as if to show that his neatness reduced his threat. ‘I’m on probation. And all physical violence is against the rules here. You’ll get in trouble if you hit me.’

‘Hit him,’ Honoria hissed at me.

‘I’ve got to hit you,’ I said stupidly.

‘Go ahead,’ he said, ‘but don’t blame me when they kick you out.’

‘That’s fine. I want to leave,’ I said and, after a brief hesitation while I considered where and how hard to hit him, I swung a right fist in a short arc which ended striking the upper right part of the young man’s chest. Although rocked by the blow he looked down at the area as if a small fly had just landed there.

‘Let’s go,’ I said to Honoria.

‘Are you free
tomorrow
night?!’ he called after Honoria as we marched off.

By the time we made it to the room I was deeply depressed. First, I saw no way through the strange morass of Lukedom to find my father, and second, Honoria was livid. She was angry for coming to Lukedom, angry for my being so stupid as to want to come, and angry with the people of Lukedom for their concerted efforts to inconvenience or insult her.

I knew that when Honoria was angry the least bad strategy – there were no good strategies – was to remain silent. So we exchanged not a single word from the encounter with the leather jacket to our room – our accommodations costing $48 for the night, roughly in the mid-range of the options the dice could have chosen.

While Honoria marched off to soak in a hot bath in a
huge old clawfoot bathtub, I lay down on one of the sagging twin beds and brooded. I hated my father for setting things up in such a way that I had either to conform to his ways or give up the quest to find him. I supposed I could get a few days’ leave out of Blair, Battle and Pike to stay on in Lukedom, but felt it would defeat the purpose of my quest if I compromised with Luke’s ways before finding him.

If only there were some easier way to get Jake to tell us where he was. It still seemed logical that Luke might be hiding in Lukedom. The gate and guard might only be a camouflaged early-warning system to inform some central headquarters about who was trying to arrive. The more I thought about it the more I realized that I knew little about what might actually be going on here.

Honoria came out of the bathroom and climbed quickly into the other bed, ostentatiously pulling up the covers and turning her back to me.

‘Please turn out the light,’ she said. ‘I just want to blot out everything.’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ I said, staring at the cracked ceiling.

‘Don’t,’ said Honoria. ‘I’d rather be buried in jello.’

‘I think we should stay here tomorrow and look around,’ I went on. ‘It’s Sunday, and a few more hours here can’t hurt us.’

‘Of course not,’ said Honoria, her back still to me, ‘we’ve already lost the Mercedes, been overcharged for bed and board, and I’ve got a chance to date the local teenage werewolf.’

FROM LUKE’S JOURNAL

We sit in front of TV sets, we read the sacred tables of the baseball statistics, stock quotations, bank balances; we check the grades of children, loved ones, self: we measure salaries, complexions, grades, cars, penises. bosoms, square footage, frontage, savings, neighbourhoods, nations – everything but vitality, which can’t be measured and so is ignored. We measure and triumph or measure and fear; in either case we lose, for both are on a scale which is recognized as valid by only a few. Our triumphs and our tragedies are both mountains of the moment, to be turned at the toll of another hour to ant hills in the dust.