“I think I would like if possible to finish today,” the Master said to the
managers on the morning of December 4. In the course of the morning’s
session he said to Otaké: “Suppose we finish today.” Otaké nodded quietly.
The faithful battle reporter, I felt a tightening in my chest at the thought
that after more than half a year the match was to finish today. And the
Master’s defeat was clear to everyone.
It was also in the morning, at a time when Otaké was away from the
board, that the Master turned to us and smiled pleasantly. “It’s all over.
Nothing more to be done.”
I do not know when he had called a barber, but this morning he
resembled a shaven-headed priest. He had come to Itō with his hair long
and parted, as in the hospital, and dyed black; and now, suddenly, it was
cropped short. One might have seen histrionics in this refashioning; yet he
seemed young and brisk, as if a layer of aging had been washed away.
December 4 was a Sunday. There were one or two plum blossoms in the
garden. Since numbers of guests had come to the inn on Saturday, the
session was held in the new addition, in the room that had always been
mine, next to the Master’s. The Master’s room was at the far end of the new
building. The managers had the night before occupied the two rooms
directly above. They were in effect protecting the Master from incursions
by other guests. Otaké, who had been on the second floor of the new
building, had moved downstairs a day or two before. He was not feeling at
all well, he said, and it was a trial to climb up and down stairs.
The new building faced directly south. The garden was wide and open,
and direct sunlight fell near the Go board.
