with Black 131, White need not hurry with the oblique extension at Q-8,
but could quietly consolidate his ranks with M-9. Whatever variations
might have occurred, the lines would have been more complex than on the
chart as we have it, and an extremely close fight would have ensued. The
coup de grâce came with the assault following upon Black 133. However
desperate he might be in his search for remedies, White was powerless to
send the crushing wave back.”
The fatal play suggested a psychological or a physiological failure. I
myself, amateur though I am, thought at the time that with White 130,
which seemed a strong play and which seemed a quiet, withdrawn sort of
play, the Master, consistently on the defensive, was trying to turn the tide;
and at the same time I felt that his patience was at an end, his temper taxed
to the breaking. But he said that if he had cut Black at a single point he
could have saved himself. It would seem that the mistake resulted from
more than an outburst of the anger the Master had felt all morning. Yet one
cannot be sure. The Master himself could not have measured the tides of
destiny within him, or the mischief from those passing wraiths.
As the Master played White 130, the sound of a virtuoso flute came
drifting in, to quiet somewhat the storm on the board.
The Master listened. He seemed to be reminiscing.
“‘From high in the hills, see the valley below.
Melons in blossom, all in a row.’
“The first piece you learn on the flute. There is another kind of bamboo
flute, you know, with one hole less than this one. The single-joint,
call it.”
Otaké pondered over Black 131 for an hour and fifteen minutes,
exclusive of the noon recess. At two in the afternoon he took up a stone.
“Shall I?” He paused and finally played.
