On the day of the opening ceremony at the Kōyōkan, Black made a
single play and White a single play; and the next day took them only up to
White 12. The match was then moved to Hakoné. The Master and the
various managers and attendants set out together. Real play not having
begun, signs of discord still lay in the future. On the evening of our arrival
at the Taiseikan in Dogashima, the Master relaxed with his usual aperitif,
something less than a flagon of saké, and talked of this and that with richly
expressive gestures; and so the evening passed.
The large table in the parlor to which we had first been shown seemed to
be of Tsugaru lacquer. The talk turned to lacquer, of which the Master had
this to say:
“I don’t remember when it was, but I once saw a Go board of lacquer. It
wasn’t just lacquer-coated, it was dry lacquer to the core. A lacquer man in
Aomori made it for his own amusement. He took twenty-five years to do it,
he said. I imagine it would take that long, waiting for the lacquer to dry and
then putting on a new coat. The bowls and boxes were solid lacquer too. He
showed the set at an exhibition and asked five thousand, and when it didn’t
sell he came to the Go Association and asked them to sell it for three
thousand. But I don’t know. It was too heavy. Heavier than I am. It must
have weighed close to a hundred and twenty pounds.” And, looking at
Otaké: “You’ve put on weight.”
“Over a hundred and thirty.”
“Oh? Exactly twice what I am. And you’re less than half my age.”
“I’ve turned thirty, sir. Thirty is a bad age. In the days when you were
good enough to give me lessons I was thinner.” His thoughts turned to his
