The Master, seated bolt upright, thrust his head forward and rapped
irritably on the rim of the brazier. He glared at the board. He was counting
up points.
The White triangle that had been cut off by Black 129 was cut on the
other side by Black 133, and, with white stones in check play after play
down to Black 139, the “earthshaking” changes of which Otaké had spoken
took shape around and below the three white stones. Black had invaded the
very heart of the White formation. I could almost hear the sound of the
collapse.
“I don’t know. It’s all the same. I don’t know,” muttered the Master,
fanning himself furiously. Should he take the two black stones beside him
or pursue his line of flight? “I don’t know, I don’t know.”
But he played with remarkable speed, in twenty-eight minutes. Tea and
refreshments were brought in.
“I’m not feeling well, thank you.” Otaké declined the helping of
mushizushi
“Think of it as medicine.”
“I was sure this would be the sealed play,” said Otaké, contemplating
White 140. “You play so fast, sir, you have my head spinning. Nothing
upsets me more.”
Black 145 was the sealed play. Otaké took a stone in his hand and went
on thinking, and the time appointed for the end of the session arrived. He
withdrew into the hall to set down his sealed play. The Master continued to
gaze at the board. His lower eyelids seemed inflamed and somewhat
swollen. Through the sessions at Itō he was constantly looking at his watch.
