As promised, here is my latest short story in my challenge to myself to write and publish a short story a week for a year. You can read it here for free until I put something else up here in this space. Don’t know what it’ll be. Maybe an excerpt from one of my novels. Maybe a poem. Maybe something else. Stay tuned.
The Gambler’s Tale
Mario Milosevic
Published by Green Snake Publishing
Copyright (c) 2012 by Mario Milosevic
Cover photo copyright (c) by Aleksandar Kamasi | dreamstime.com
I’M NINE YEARS old when my aunt gives me two dice. I think they must be some kind of toy. What else would I think? I toss them to the floor, and they roll to the wall and spin around for a few seconds then stop, showing two sixes.
My aunt laughs. “Amanda,” she says. “Go pick them up.”
So I go to the wall and grab the dice and bring them back and show them to her.
She tells me the dice are magic dice. I’m young, but not that young. I know she’s not telling me the truth. There is no such thing as magic. But she’s my aunt, so I listen.
“Whenever you need to make a decision in your life,” she tells me, “use these dice. They will never fail you.”
A decision? What decisions does a nine-year-old have to make?
She puts the dice into my hand. I hold them between my palms. They feel smooth and nice.
“I don’t want two of them,” I say.
My aunt looks startled, like I said something in a different language.
I hand one of the dice to her. It’s a classic design: white with pits painted black. The corners are slightly rounded so they roll better. Probably made of plastic, but for all I know they could be made of ivory, bone, clay, or rock.
“Okay, Amanda,” she says, and takes the dice back.
“Now we both have one,” I say.
“That’s nice,” says my aunt. “I want to tell you how to use the one you have left.”
I throw it at the wall again and laugh.
She laughs with me. Then she explains that all I have to do when I need to decide something is throw the dice and do A if it comes up even and B if it comes up odd.
That seems simple enough and I tell her I’ll be sure to do that.
“The dice will be your friend,” says my aunt.
“Okay,” I say.
“It’ll work only for you if you keep it close to you.”
I nod, not really understanding.
I LOSE MY dice for years. Not only do I have no idea where it is, I don’t remember it.
I ask my parents about my aunt. They tell me she took an ocean trip and never returned. She married someone in some other country and will never come back.
This does not distress me. I like the idea of my aunt doing something exotic like that. I imagine her living in a strange land with weird creatures.
I get letters and cards from her. She tells me she is happy.
When I’m eighteen and getting ready to move out of my parents’ house to go to college, I find the dice under some junk in my closet. I hold it in my hand. It feels warm. Strange sensation.
I wonder if I should go visit my aunt.
I remember her words about decisions and decide to throw the dice. If it comes up odd, I’ll go visit her. If it comes up even, I won’t.
I roll the dice between my hands, then drop it to the floor. It bounces a few times, then twirls on one of its corners, and finally settles into stillness, showing two black spots. Even.
So I won’t go visit my aunt. I’m pleased that the dice made that decision for me. So much easier than doing it myself.
I remember what my aunt said, that the dice are magic, and I feel a heat in the room, like the sun is working harder than usual. Is this the magic?
IN COLLEGE A classmate asks me to write a paper for him. It’s in a subject I know very well. It would be easy to do, but my first thought is to say no. I shouldn’t be helping a student cheat. I had never even considered doing such a thing in my academic career. Not in high school or university. I never cheated and never helped anyone cheat.
Maybe that is what makes the idea seem inviting: the fascination of the forbidden.
I can’t explain it, but the question feels like it might be a turning point in my life. The request feels like an opportunity.
Then I think of the dice.
That night I go outside, under the sky.
Odd: I write the paper. Even: I don’t.
I stand in starlight mingled with the yellow glow from a nearby streetlight and toss the dice up in the air and let it fall to the sidewalk where it skitters and rolls and spins and then stops.
The face shows five spots, and I suddenly feel very warm.
Despite my own personal issues with cheating, I take the advice of the dice and write the paper for my classmate that night and give it to him the next morning. He pays me for my work.
All that day I feel all my senses more acutely. The grass smells richer and the world looks brighter. Maybe even in more focus. None of this makes sense to me. I cheated. Why should that make the world look better?
My paper gets the student an A+. He tells his friends who come to me with requests of their own. I do papers for all of them and increase my fee. More and more students learn of my skill, and I get more and more business.
I drop out of school, rent a small apartment near campus, and make a comfortable living writing papers for lazy and/or incompetent students.
I MEET ALEX, a science major, who’s writing a thesis on probability theory. He spends a lot of time at casinos doing research. We become a couple and I tell him about the dice, how I use it sometimes to make life decisions. My story fascinates him. He wants to know when I will use it again.
I tell him I don’t know. “These things aren’t planned,” I say. “They just happen. The fates decide when I will use the dice to decide.”
Even as I say this I laugh at the absurdity.
He finds my chosen profession interesting, even dangerous. I tell him he must have a sheltered life if he thinks what I do is dangerous. He agrees with me.
I watch him watching other gamblers at the casino. I tell him I think he loves gambling for gambling’s sake, not because he is a probability researcher.
He agrees with me and thanks me for pointing this out. He likes that I don’t bullshit him. I tell him that his love for gambling in the guise of academic research makes him just as phony as what I do makes me a cheat.
He says he finds me irresistible. He loves the way I flaunt convention and the accepted norms of life. I make a living by allowing other people to lie about their knowledge and skills. He finds that exciting.
I like his attention and the way he makes me more than I am. I feel flattered and like the feeling.
He asks me to marry him.
I have trepidations. I like my life. But I also like him. A lot.
Even: marry. Odd: decline.
I wake up with the sun. Its reddish glow fills the early morning sky. I step onto the street in front of my house. Everything is quiet. I roll the dice between my hands, then raise my arms high so the dice arcs up and is suspended in the air for an instant. It comes down, spins and rolls, and stops with a single spot showing.
I return to the house and call Alex and tell him I don’t think it will work out.
He is stunned.
I am so warm that I open all the windows in the house and leave them open all day.
MY AUNT COMES to visit. She is divorced and has moved back to her home country.
I ask her if she liked living in a foreign country. She tells me it had its points, but she missed her home. She never felt like she was where she should be.
She asks me about my parents. I tell her they are doing well.
“I’ll have to go see them next,” she says.
“Do you remember that dice you gave me?” I ask her.
She reaches into her purse and shows me the other one. “I use it all the time,” she says. “I used it to decide if I should come here.”
“I keep mine in the freezer,” I say.
“The freezer?”
“If my place ever burns down, it’ll be safe. The inside of a fridge is the most likely place to remain intact in a fire,” I say.
“You don’t say.”
I nod. “I use my dice very sparingly,” I say. “I used it to make a career decision and a marriage decision.”
“That’s all?” says my aunt. She is surprised.
“I feel like its magic is stronger the less I use it.” I do not tell her the dice told me not to go visit her.
“You could be right,” she says, “but maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe using it more increases its power.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Do you feel warm when you throw the dice?”
“I do,” says my aunt. “That’s how I know it’s working.”
My aunt spends the night. In the morning she throws the dice and tells me she has to go.
“I was hoping we could spend the day together. I remember the fun times we had when I was a kid.”
“There’ll be more fun times,” says my aunt. “But the dice told me to go.”
She gives me a hug, throws her things together into her travel bag, and leaves my place. She’s my somewhat-crazy aunt so it doesn’t bother me too much that she doesn’t want to hang out with me. I blame it on the dice.
I EXPAND MY business. Soon I can’t keep up with the requests for papers and I hire two other writers to help me. I pay them a fair wage. They are pleased to get it.
I place ads in campus papers, discreetly offering my services as a researcher. Students flock to me.
I go along like this for a while.
Through the campus grapevine I learn that Alex gets his doctorate and marries another math student. They both gain professorships and his wife becomes pregnant.
Then Alex is arrested for battery: He abuses his wife. She loses her baby.
I hold the dice in my hand and marvel at its wisdom.
I DECIDE I want a child. I have two options. Even: adopt. Odd: artificial insemination.
I drive out of town and into the countryside. The trees seem to glide by me. The road winds up and up to a ski resort on a mountain. I park in the parking lot and walk up the mountain about half a mile into the clouds. I roll the dice between my palms.
The sun comes out. The clouds scatter.
I drop the dice and let it roll to a stop on the rock.
It shows four spots.
Sweat pops out on my forehead. I peel off my jacket and mitts and let them fall to the ground. The sun becomes unbearable. I retreat to the car and turn on the engine and blast my face with cold air from the AC.
I’m going to be a mother.
IT TAKES YEARS, but eventually I get a baby girl of my own. Her name is Laura. I bring her home from the adoption agency, and we become a family immediately.
Meanwhile, in another part of the country, my aunt throws her dice and it tells her to come out and help me with Laura. She arrives and I think how awful she looks: tired and used up. Before long she tells me the truth: She has been spending her days and nights at casinos and has lost all her money gambling. Her dice has been unreliable, telling her to bet one way when the other way would be the winner.
I sympathize but tell her she must have used up the magic.
She agrees with me. My way was better. Spare use of the dice is best.
We spend time with Laura. My aunt tells me Laura could be my real daughter, she looks so much like me.
I tell her that’s crazy, but feel pleased that she said it.
My aunt asks if she can live with me for a while. Until she gets back on her feet.
Without throwing the dice, I agree.
My aunt moves in. At first she is a model housemate.
MY AUNT REFUSES to buy food or pay very much rent or contribute to the household in any way. She is very good with Laura. That counts for a lot, so I try to ignore her bad qualities.
One morning my aunt is gone. I am pretty sure I know where she went. There is a casino a few miles from my place.
I spend time with Laura.
Something nags at me, and I go to my freezer where I keep the dice. It isn’t in its regular place. I look to see if it has been disturbed, maybe moved to another part of the freezer, but no. It is simply not there.
I leave Laura with my neighbor and drive to the casino.
I find my aunt at the roulette wheel. She has a sweater wrapped around her and still she shivers. She does not see me. Before confronting her, I watch her. She uses my dice. Odd: bet on red. Even: bet on black.
I watch her for a few minutes. The dice is not working for her. Sometimes she wins, sometimes she loses.
I don’t know what to make of this. Maybe the dice only works for me. Or maybe she has already used it too much and she has drained it of its magic.
I go to my aunt and ask her why she took my dice.
She gives it back to me and tells me she is sorry. I’m not sure if I believe her or not. My aunt tells me she is addicted to gambling and needs help.
“I can see that,” I say.
“Your dice must be attuned to you, now,” she says. “It doesn’t work for me.”
I don’t know what to do. I roll the dice between my palms.
Even: I help her. Odd: I let her go out of my life.
My aunt watches as I drop the dice to the casino floor. It bounces away from me and someone walking by kicks it. It careens off a wall and goes under another roulette table. I crawl under the table and find the dice.
It shows three spots.
I grab the dice and crawl back out and stand up. My aunt is gone. I never see her again.
The casino is so warm I have to run outside. I stand, panting against the heat.
A FEW YEARS later, Laura is older and finds my dice. She asks me about it.
I tell her my aunt gave it to me. It’s a lucky dice.
She tells me there’s no such thing as luck.
“That’s mostly true, Laura,” I say, “but not always. That dice has helped me in my life.”
She still does not believe me. I don’t blame her. I feel pride that she is skeptical of magic.
“Tell you what,” I say. “We’ll try out the magic later. When you’re older and can handle it better.”
She tells me she likes to think this dice will be waiting for her.
After thinking about it some more, I’m not so sure.
I decide to use the dice for another decision. Even: I keep the dice for Laura. Odd: I destroy the dice.
I wait until Laura is asleep. Then I stand in the living room of my apartment. I roll the dice around on my palm. I try to feel its power. I think about the time my aunt used it in the casino. I drop the dice to the floor.
It bounces more than I ever remember it bouncing. It looks like it has something alive in it. The dice spins and spins. I step back to give it room. The house gets very warm. I feel my heart rate increase. I feel my pulse points throb.
Finally the dice stops spinning. It shows five spots.
I get a hammer from the junk drawer and take it with the dice to the front steps. I place the dice on the step and lift the hammer. I’m prepared to destroy the dice. I want to see its insides, pure white, turn to powder.
But my hand freezes above my head. I let the hammer down slowly and let it rest on the step.
I go inside the house and put the dice back into its accustomed place in the freezer.
YEARS LATER I receive word from my parents that my aunt, whose health had been declining for some time, died of complications related to alcoholism.
I struggle to make sense of this. Her dice lost its power and she fell into drink? Traded one addiction for another?
I feel sad and think of Laura. I feel pleased that I did not keep the dice for her. There was too much power in that.
LAURA GROWS UP to be a beautiful and capable young woman. She tells me she has been saving up her use of the dice for something very important. She does not know if she should study medicine or law. “What do you think, Mom?” she asks me.
Laura has never learned what her mother does for a living. She believes I am what I tell everyone I am: a researcher and tutor, aiding students who need help.
“I can’t decide for you,” I say.
“I know you can’t,” she says. “But maybe the dice can. Will you bring it out for me? I know you’ve been saving it for me. Saving it for a day like this.”
I go into the freezer where I had put the fake dice years before.
I bring it out and hand it to Laura. She takes it and clasps it between her palms. “This is how you said to hold it, isn’t it?” she asks me.
I nod. “That’s right.”
“Odd: law,” says Laura. “Even: medicine.”
I feel my face flush. My daughter is going to make the most important decision of her life. Right here. Right now.
“Here goes,” she says, and tosses the dice into the air.
I watch Laura’s face, radiant and glowing. She wants this moment for herself but also for us. She wants me to think she believes in magic.
As the dice falls, I reach out and snatch it from the air.
Laura looks at me. “Is this part of it?”
I feel the dice in my hand. It is as smooth and warm as the day my aunt first gave it to me.
“You know what,” I say to my daughter. “I think maybe this decision you should make on your own.”
“But I wanted to use your dice. You’ve always talked about it. You’ve always said it was magic.”
“I was wrong,” I say. “You’re the only magic in my life.”
THAT NIGHT WE take the dice out onto the steps and we take turns smashing it with the hammer until it is just a pile of white powder flecked with some black.
I feel comfortable. Completely cool and fresh, like there can never be a too warm day again.
Not ever.
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