from the strain of having fought both Otaké and illness, the best thing, one
would have thought, would have been an immediate change of air. Was the
Master perhaps somewhat vague in these matters? Though all the various
organizers, and myself as well, reporter on the game, had come to find the
place intolerable and had left as if seeking refuge, the defeated Master
stayed behind alone. Would he be sitting there absently as always, leaving
the gloom and the weariness to the imagination of others, as if to say that
he knew nothing about them?
His opponent, Otaké of the Seventh Rank, had been among the first to
go. Unlike the childless Master, he had a lively house to go back to.
I believe it was two or three years after the match that I had a letter from
his wife in which she said that they now had sixteen people in the house. I
wanted to pay a visit. I did call with condolences after his father died and
that total of sixteen had been reduced to fifteen. The visit, my first, was
rather belated, for it came a full month, I believe, after the funeral. Otaké
himself was out, but his wife showed me into the parlor. Her manner
suggested that I brought pleasant memories. When we had finished our
greetings she stepped to the door.
“Have them all come in, please.”
There was a rush of footsteps and four or five young people came into
the parlor. They formed a row, like children being called to attention.
Apparently disciples of Otaké’s, they ranged from perhaps eleven or twelve
to twenty. Among them was a tall, plump, red-cheeked girl.
“Now be polite,” said Mrs. Otaké, having introduced me.
They bobbed their heads abruptly. I felt the warmth of the household.
There was nothing calculated about the scene, the house was one in which
such things came quite naturally. When the young people had left the parlor
I could hear them chattering noisily through the house. Mrs. Otaké invited
