Isaac Simov was a terror in his math class. He was upset about being
assigned the dullards this semester- " future factory hands and breeders
of the race ", he thought of them.
A few days ago he made fun of Roberta's superstitious habit of bunking
school every Friday 13th ." I'll prove to her what bad luck it is by
flunking her instead of giving her a generous D- ", he announced
sardonically.
The next day he sat stone faced reading of Roberta's death in a
bizarre row boat accident in Roger Williams Park. Her boyfriend Clyde,
one of his more promising students, was being questioned by police.
Isaac began to change in subtle ways after that tragedy. He always
thought of himself as an old Pythagorean who believed that NUMBER rules
the universe. He began to use various mathematical mysteries to calculate
the exact day of his own death.
He converted his age into a decimal fraction which represented
his age to the very month, day, and hour. It was 66.666. Every night
at midnight he averaged the ages of everybody whose death notice had
appeared that day in the local newspaper. He dreaded the day he would
read : 66.666 - correct to three decimal points on the calculator screen.
One night he read 66.59
The next night Isaac read : 66.60 . In subsequent nights he read :
66.61, 66.62, 66,63, 66.64, 66.65.
On A Thursday 12th it read 66.665 . Isaac had severe palpitations
of the heart and dialed 911. He was taken to St. Jude emergency center
and released with a supply of nitro-glycerin.
His daughter Robin took him home and decided to stay by his side.
She was the apple of his eye. But he knew he was doomed anyway. His NUMBER
would come up soon.
At midnight he did the macabre arithmetic. The number was now fatal:
66.666. He died -with a moment's agony- saying just audibly to his
daughter: " Oh my beautiful brain, my beautiful brain - NEVER MORE ! "
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Ron