Otaké’s way of sitting down and getting up again was as if readying
himself for battle. It was probably for him what the quickened breathing
was for the Master. Yet the heaving of those thin, hunched shoulders was
what struck me most forcefully. I felt as if I were the uninvited witness to
the secret advent of inspiration, painless, calm, unknown to the Master and
not perceived by others.
But afterwards it seemed to me that I had rather outdone myself. Perhaps
the Master had but felt a twinge of pain in his chest. His heart condition
was worse as the match progressed, and perhaps he had felt the first spasm
at that moment. Not knowing of the heart ailment, I had reacted as I had,
probably, out of respect for the Master. I should have been more coolly
rational. But the Master himself seemed unaware of his illness and of the
heavy breathing. No sign of pain or disquiet came over his face, nor did he
press a hand to his chest.
Otaké’s Black 5 took twenty minutes, and the Master used forty-one
minutes for White 6, the first considerable period of deliberation in the
match. Since it had been arranged that the player whose turn came at four
in the afternoon would seal his play, the sealed play would be the Master’s
unless he played within two minutes. Otaké’s Black 11 had come at two
minutes before the hour. The Master sealed his White 12 at twenty-two
minutes after the hour.
The skies, clear in the morning, had clouded over. The storm that was to
bring floods in both the east and the west of Japan was on its way.
