“You do not learn about your opponent’s character when you play Go or
when you play chess,” the Master once remarked, apropos of amateur Go.
“Trying to judge your opponent’s character perverts the whole spirit of the
game.” Presumably he was annoyed at amateur theoreticians of Go. “I lose
myself in the game, and my opponent stops mattering.”
On January 2, 1940, which is to say a half month before his death, the
Master participated in the game of linked Go that officially opened the year
for the Go Association. The players who assembled at the Association
offices made five plays each, the equivalent of leaving their calling cards.
Since the wait seemed likely to be a long one, a second game was started.
The Master took his place opposite Seo of the Second Rank, who had no
other partner, at White 20 of the second game. They made their five plays
each, from Black 21 to White 30. There being no others to follow, the game
was to be suspended at White 30. Even so, the Master spent forty minutes
thinking about his last play. He was the last to appear in what was after all a
ceremonial observance, and he could as well have made his play
immediately and been done with the matter.
I went to see him at St. Luke’s Hospital during the three-month recess in
his retirement match. The furnishings were huge, to fit the American
physique. There was something precarious about the Master’s small figure
perched on the lofty bed. The dropsical swelling had largely gone from his
face, and his cheeks were somewhat fuller; but more striking was a certain
lightness in the figure, as if he had thrown off a heavy spiritual burden. He
seemed carefree and almost lackadaisical, a different old gentleman from
the Master at the Go board.
