“All through lunch he sat gazing off into space,” said his wife. “He must
have been in a difficult spot.” It was July 26, the day of the fourth Hakoné
session. “I told him it wouldn’t do. If he went on eating as if he didn’t
know he was eating, his stomach would rebel. I told him he would ruin his
digestion if he didn’t put himself into a mood for it. He frowned and went
on looking off into space.”
The Master apparently had not expected the violent attack that came with
Black 69. He deliberated his response for an hour and forty-six minutes. It
was his slowest play since the beginning of the match.
But Otaké had probably been planning Black 69 all through the recess.
At the beginning of the session he reread the situation for twenty minutes,
as if restraining an impulse toward haste. He seemed to exude strength, he
swayed violently, he thrust a knee toward the board. Briskly he played
Black 67 and Black 69. Then he laughed a high laugh.
“A thunder storm? A tempest?”
Dark clouds were blowing up. There was rain on the lawn, and then rain
against the glass doors that had hastily been pulled shut. Otaké’s jest was of
a sort he was much given to, but it had the sound of fulfillment as well.
An expression flickered across the Master’s face as of astonishment or
foreboding, and at the same time as of feigned bewilderment, meant to
please and amuse. Even so ambiguous an expression was unusual for the
Master.
Black made a very curious play during the sessions at Itō, a sealed play
that seemed to take advantage of the fact that it was a sealed play. The
Master could scarcely wait for the recess to let his indignation be known.
