principal burden from the beginnings of modern Go in early Meiji through
its rise to its recent prosperity. Was not the proper course for his successors
to see this match, the last of his long career, to a satisfactory end? At
Hakoné the Master had behaved in a somewhat arbitrary fashion because of
his illness, but still an old man had endured pain and gone on fighting. Not
yet fully recovered, he had dyed his hair black to continue the battle here at
Itō. There could be little doubt that he was staking his very life on it. If his
young adversary were to forfeit, the sympathies of the world would be with
the Master, and Otaké must be resigned to sharp criticism. Even if Otaké’s
case was a good one, he could expect nothing better than endless
affirmations and denials, or perhaps a contest in mudslinging. He could not
expect the world to recognize the facts. This last match would be history,
and a forfeiture would be history too. The most important point of all was
that Otaké carried responsibility for an emerging era. If the game were to
end now, conjecture on the final outcome would become a matter of noisy
and ugly rumors. Was it really right for a young successor to ruin the
Master’s last game?
I spoke hesitantly and by fits and starts. Yet I made what were for me a
remarkable number of points. Otaké remained silent. He did not agree to
continue the match. He of course had his reasons, and repeated concessions
had brought him to the breaking point. He had just made another
concession, and been ordered as a result to play on the morrow. No one had
shown the slightest concern for his feelings. He could not play well in the
circumstances, and so the conscientious thing was not to play at all.
“If we postpone it a day, you will go on?”
“Yes, I suppose so. But there’s no good in it, really.”
“But you will play the day after tomorrow?”
I pushed for a clear answer. I did not say that I would speak to the
Master. He continued to apologize.
