In 1844, shortly after receiving a promotion to fourth dan at the age of fourteen, Honinbou Shuusaku returned to his hometown of Innoshima for eighteen months. It was his second visit home after leaving to study at the Honinbou school in Edo.
It is said that a game of igo mirrors the changing universe. The patterns that unfold in black and white stones become the flux and flow between heaven and earth, day and night, life and death. If this is true, then the igo player is no more than an instrument, the zither from which these harmonies are plucked.
But it is also said that a game of igo mirrors the player's heart. Each hand speaks his most hidden thoughts: his fears, desires, and passions exposed wordlessly on the wooden surface. Thus, learning igo is like learning to write poetry. The igo player must first master how to say what he intends to say, then how to not say it, and finally how to say it in his own voice. Unsigned, an exceptional poem still bears the name of the poet who wrote it; so too does a beautiful game announce the mind of its player.
If this is true, then whom do the games of Honinbou Shuusaku reveal?
early setting sun
the cicadas' soft echo
beneath ancient stones
Restless with uncertainty, I asked Shuwa-sensei's permission to journey back home to Innoshima. He was surprised at my eagerness to leave so suddenly after receiving yondan and inquired whether I intended to participate in next year's castle games. I do not know yet when I will return.
I spent the night at an inn in Onomichi, having arrived too late to take the ferry to Innoshima before nightfall. The innkeeper asked my name, and I answered, Kuwabara Torajirou. It has been many years since I last spoke my name or heard it spoken out loud. At the Honinbou school, I am called Shuusaku but that name rightly belongs to Sai-sensei.
This morning I stopped by Senkou-ji temple to pray and made the acquaintance of Matamune-san, a fellow traveler who is making a pilgrimage in these parts. Upon hearing that I came from the Honinbou school in Edo, he asked me for a game, and Sai-sensei was eager as usual to oblige. The now-familiar sensation of Sensei's excitement settled over me like the lulling smell of temple incense. The game was calm and unhurried.
from dusty ceiling
a spider descending to
comment on the game
Sai-sensei won the game, and Matamune-san thanked me profusely for teaching him. I bowed and said that the game had taught me much as well, although I fear he mistook my words as mere courtesies. Later, I asked Sai-sensei what would have happened if Matamune-san had extended to the upper left earlier instead of cautiously protecting his territory in the right. Sensei replied that in this case, the conservative move was a good choice since there had also been a trap waiting in the upper left, which Matamune-san had deftly avoided.
I have spent four years in Edo, studying igo day and night, watching game after game of igo, but there is still much that I have yet to learn. Even a thousand years may not be enough.
At midday, I bade farewell to Matamune-san and went to the ferry, where I paid for my passage across the sea. I arrived in Innoshima shortly before dusk.
old, half-bent pine tree
do you still remember me?
your branches silent
The small delights of coming home: a room to myself, the comforting clack-clack of Father's abacus, my old sandals set out by my mother at the door. The shoes are too small for me now but I wore them anyway, letting my heels grow muddy.
Sai-sensei was anxious today, although he tried his best to hide it from me. I too hid my smile out of respect. Instead, I asked for a game, since that is what he loves best. It was the first time I played for myself since I last left Innoshima. In Edo, we did not have time alone to play a game together, and I dared not play any opponent as myself.
falling maple leaf
lightly rests on two star points
like a patch of blood
Although I have watched all of Sai-sensei's games, it is only when he is my opponent that I am reminded of the full extent of his talent. I struggled to read ahead further, to lay subtle traps, to turn the tide of the game with a brilliant hand, but he was always one step ahead.
I have lost, I said, and he nodded in acknowledgment. He told me that I made my mistake in chuuban when I failed to notice the importance of hiskatatsugi. He also told me that my style of igo is beginning to mirror his. I believed it to be a compliment, for does not every student seek to imitate his master, but Sensei shook his head.
But I believe that Sai-sensei will achieve the Hand of God. That I can provide the hands for him to do so is a great honor.
I paid my respects to my patron, Lord Asano, in Onomichi today. He greeted me warmly and invited me to play Hoshin-sensei, who wished to test my skills and to see how much I had improved since departing for the capital. I felt a strange impatience as I waited for Sai-sensei to call out each hand. The whole castle gathered to watch the game, and I kept my head bowed to avoid meeting their gaze.
the edge of white sleeves
draped across tatami mats
a fan unfurling
Hoshin-sensei lost the game and quipped that next time, he would ask for a handicap. I could not smile at the jest. He had been my first teacher, and although it was not I who had defeated him, he believed that I had surpassed him and felt as proud of my talent as if it had been his own. How could I tell him that it was not my igo he had seen today?
I refused Asano-dono's offer of dinner and a night's lodging, although Sai-sensei wished to stay, in hopes of further games. Sensei was able to curb his great distress however, and I was able to depart with nothing more than a slight uneasiness in my stomach.
I am fond of the ferry boat ride back to Innoshima. The boat rocks gently in the calm sea, bright like glass underneath the white sun. On the blue surface of the water, one can see the shadows of the gulls soaring up ahead.
When Honinbou Shuusaku plays on the goban, I wonder, do they also see the shadows of the Hand of God?
I will stay here awhile, I say to Sensei. He does not object: there are strong igo players wherever one travels.
This afternoon, I replayed yesterday's game and paused to contemplate the elegance of the shape forming on the goban. As I held my breath, I felt a sudden resolve to one day play a game of my own that would be as beautiful. For I too am an igo player, walking the path to the Hand of God, though I be many steps behind him.
I asked Sensei for a game, which made him very happy.
Outside, the first snow is falling and melting away into the ground.
single black stone in the corner
waits for its reply