It astonished the managers, and myself as well, that Otaké deliberated his
first move at Itō, when the game was resumed after a three-month recess,
for two hundred and eleven minutes—a full three hours and a half. He
began his deliberations at ten thirty in the morning, and with a noon recess
of an hour and a half, finally played when the autumn sun was sinking and
an electric light hung over the board.
It was at twenty minutes before three that he finally played Black 101.
He looked up laughing. “See what an idiot I am. It shouldn’t have taken
me a minute to make the jump. Three and a half hours deciding whether to
jump or to swim.
Ridiculous.” And he laughed again.
The Master smiled wryly and did not answer.
It was as Otaké said: Black 101 was quite obvious to all of us. The game
was entering its decisive stages and the time had come for Black to invade
the White formation in the lower right corner; and the point where the play
was finally made offered almost the only reasonable beginning. Besides the
one-space “jump” to R-13, the “swim” at R-12 was a possibility; but
though some hesitation was understandable the difference was of little
account.
Why then did he take so long? Bored with the long wait, I at first thought
it merely strange, and then I began to have suspicions. Was it all a show?
Was it an irritant, or perhaps a camouflage? I had reasons for these
uncharitable suspicions. Play was being resumed after a three-month
recess. Had Otaké been studying the board all through those months? At
the hundredth play the match was a tight, delicate one. The final stages
might have a certain boldness and sweep, but the issue would probably
remain in doubt to the end. However often and in whatever formation one
lined up the stones there could be no real determination of the outcome.
The research and the probing could go on indefinitely. Yet it seemed
unlikely that Otaké had abandoned his studies of so important a match. He
had had three months in which to think about Black 101. Now to take three
