[ro]
SHADOW OF THE OTHER
by ladyseishou
By three methods we may learn wisdom:
first, by reflection, which is noblest;
second, by imitation, which is easiest;
and third by experience, which is the bitterest.
Confucius
* * * * *
Edo, 1847
* * * * *
A strange man stood at the kitchen well.
Yakichi was hungry and knew by how low the copper-colored sun hung in the sky that the hour of the cock had begun. He wanted nothing more than to finish fetching water for the master's bath before the evening meal was set out.
And the man stood in his way - doing nothing more than staring down into the well.
He looked to be a rich merchant. Yakichi could tell that easily from the quality of the man's winter cloak, made of dark velvet and plain for the most part, a common enough thing required by sumptuary edict.
More remarkable was the cloak's wide hem of chrysanthemums, a design done in plain colors that still caught the eye while pretending to observe conventional sensibilities. It was a kind of sly impudence that could only be worn in public by someone with close ties to the shogunate.
That meant that the man was some lord's favored vassal or a ~very~ rich merchant. Either way, he was not someone that Yakichi could afford to insult by suggesting that he move aside and admire his looks elsewhere.
The man looked up, his dark eyes easily finding Yakichi where he stood at the path's edge.
"May I share a tale with you, boy?"
Now this was a most extraordinary face, Yakichi decided, like the man's cloak, thinking the man could be forgiven some time spent in contemplation of such classic features: smooth white skin and dark colored lips, thickly shaped eyebrows that crowned the man's piercing eyes.
He was an actor then. "A tale, sir?"
The man nodded. "Well, perhaps I should call it a fable, an old story about a fox and a stork." He leaned casually against the wood post of the well, folding his arms over his chest, giving the whole of his regard to Yakichi.
"I would hear it, sir," Yakichi said.
The man accepted that, nodding - once, twice - as he considered his audience and began:
"A fox invited a stork to his home to drink tea, setting out two beautiful but very shallow bowls." The man curled his long-fingered hand into the shape of the dish as he described it.
Yakichi admired the shape of the bowl.
"This of course was satisfactory for the fox. But sadly, given such a shallow bowl, the stork went without." He poked the palm of one hand, frustrated, with the fingers of the other.
"The fox, seeing that the stork did not drink, apologized most profusely for the poor quality of the tea leaves. The stork though was quick to assure the fox that apologies were not necessary - between such as they - and invited the fox to drink tea at the house of the stork next."
The man had successfully pricked his curiosity. "Did the fox go?" Yakichi asked.
"Oh yes, a few days later as it happens. And the fox found that the stork had set out two pretty but very tall, very narrow cups. And now, it was time the for the fox to go without drinking."
The man finished, affecting an air of satisfaction for his recitation, and waited for some sign of Yakichi's appreciation.
"I see," Yakichi said, thinking now of the weight of the bucket in his hands. He grinned, struck with an impish impulse. "Perhaps then, if the honored lord is thirsty after sharing such an enlightening tale, he may find the size of this cup the most suitable."
Yakichi offered the well's bucket over with great formality and the man took it with a broad smile.
"I was told that you were quick, boy. I suppose impudence comes with the package."
Yakichi applied himself to fetching water for the man, filling the bamboo ladle that hung from a post near the well.
As the man drank, Yakichi considered the man's face again, noticing that his hair too, was as uncommon as his cloak. It was dark, thick and glossy, oiled and arranged in a proper topknot. But he kept his long forelocks and the crown of his head was unshaven, like a boy or youth. It was an odd affectation for even an actor.
"I am Murase," Yakichi said after the man finished drinking. "I am a disciple of the house."
"Yes." The man's expression grew teasing. "I heard about your unique style of play. Something like a child scattering beans to scare off demons."
"I do well enough with it." It seemed that the man knew quite a bit about him. "Do you play, sir?"
The question prompted the man's silent examination and Yakichi grew twitchy under the weight of his regard before the man began to grin and then chuckle before giving himself over to great snorting laughter.
Eventually, he wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his cloak. "Forgive me," he said at last. "But I find your innocence charming. I do indeed play the game. Rather well if I may be allowed to say so myself. He never told you about me?"
Yakichi frowned, not happy that the man made sport of him. It was Yakichi's turn to audit the man with a suspicious eye. "May I ask your name, Honored Sir? Do you wait to meet with someone?"
"I do, boy, I do," the man said, looking past him.
Yakichi felt the warmth of familiar hand on his shoulder.
"Ota-sama," Shusaku said, greeting the man. "I thought we were to meet outside at the gate." His tone was softly reproachful.
Ota shrugged, offering up the ladle as his excuse. "Raising my cup, I asked the bright moon to bring me my shadow and make us three."
Four then, Yakichi thought, if they were to include Shusaku's shadow-like companion. It came too, standing at Shusaku's side, something like but more than a mist or cold, dark vapor, indistinct but man-shaped, a thing that only Yakichi saw.
He called it Shusaku's shadow, not willing to give it any other name. The shadows were things that he had always been able to see, less now as he grew older. And it was something that he never spoke of anymore, learning early that his stories of shadows only brought him ridicule and shame.
Besides, he knew this shadow as long as he had known the man. It seemed harmless enough.
Even so...
Shusaku was a promising and gifted student of the school.
A shining youth who had taken the time to play the young son of a poor carpenter, seeing something beyond the boy's crude, immature talent, finding something more.
Something worthwhile. Something worth saving.
He arranged for Yakichi to become a student of the school and Shusaku became his teacher.
He watched now as the shadow bent close to his teacher and spoke into Shusaku's ear.
Shusaku nodded, glancing first at Yakichi and then to the man.
Yakichi followed his eyes and looked too. This then was Ota Yuzo. He had imagined him to be something more.
Yakichi had heard already from others at the school that Ota Yuzo was strong. Actually, many said he was one of the strongest players of the day.
But for Yakichi, more than the man's strength, Ota of the Yasui House was a man Shusaku considered worthy enough to call his rival.
As if he knew Yakichi's thoughts, the man came close and took Yakichi's chin in his hand, looking him over as if inspecting goods.
"I would know this boy to see what kind of player you have made him, my dear. Surely you do not plan to keep him all to yourself?"
Yakichi frowned and pulled away, protectively riled. "Sensei doesn't need..."
His teacher's hand then was on his arm.
"I would keep him from you, yes."
The man's expression turned surprisingly gentle as he reached out to touch Shusaku's hand, the man's square-tipped fingers briefly rubbing the exposed part of Shusaku's wrist, white skin beyond the edge of his sleeve.
"Can it be, my dear, that you doubt me still?"
Yakichi wanted to shove the man's hand away.
Shusaku's shadow moved restlessly.
"Murase-kun," Shusaku said, his eyes still on the man. "They're serving the evening meal. You should go so that you don't miss out on your share."
The man's hand fell away as Shusaku turned Yakichi gently toward the house.
"Sensei..." he began, then stopped, knowing that further protest would probably just embarrass them both.
The shadow appeared to nod approvingly. Yakichi ignored it.
"What about you, senpai?" he asked instead. "Should I ask for your tray to be sent to your room?" He knew that Shusaku often ate alone as he replayed old games. Yakichi then glanced up at the man speculatively. "Or should I ask for two trays?"
Shusaku shook his head. "No, I have been invited to play at an event at a sponsor's residence."
Ota smiled smugly. "So eager then but you have not heard. There was a fire and some minor damage to Tamura's place. The game will have to be rescheduled. I came still, thinking perhaps that you might care to play at Isseki-an?"
"I would enjoy that," Shusaku said quietly.
Smug, man looked down at Yakichi now. "Go on, boy. I will bring him back to you when we have finished."
* * *
Yakichi's stomach grumbled. It was as empty as a copper-less purse. He tried his best to ignore the hollow, gnawing feeling as he walked by food-stalls parked along the crowded road. He waited now, inhaling the fragrant steam coming from a soup pot, enjoying the spectacle as the golden broth was poured over a bowl of soft buckwheat noodles. The owner gruffly greeted him and Yakichi shook his head, stepping aside hastily as the man spit into the street, turning his attention to a better paying customer.
It was just as well, they had moved on.
Yakichi wondered again what it was he thought he was doing, following Shusaku and Ota from the Honinbo compound.
They had walked for some time now after leaving the school, heading toward the river. Wide avenues of stores and warehouses became narrow streets of restaurants and theaters. Fewer people were out now as the wind from the river wound through the district like a scaled serpent with a sharp bite, a cold that Yakichi could feel down to his bones.
Yakichi wondered if it would snow as he glanced up at the veiled moon. He pulled the edges of his quilted coat tight together as he saw Ota do the same with his velvet cloak, the man's breath a frosty mist in the air speaking to Shusaku as they stood outside a gaily lit teahouse.
Yakichi realized then that he did not see signs of the Shusaku's shadow. Perhaps it was too cold for even such insubstantial, wraith-like things.
They walked on.
The hard dirt-packed road became now the exclusive way for men, samurai with their double swords and simple farmers alike, as they passed through the outskirts of Asakusa, coming to the pleasure district of Yoshiwara.
Yakichi heard many ribald tales of Yoshiwara, mostly from older students of the school who occasionally had the money needed to enjoy the brothels and other fleshy amusements of the Nigtless City.
The main avenue that led to the Great Gate was popular and lively enough, lined with teahouses and drinking establishments full of festive men and women dressed in elaborate robes singing and dancing under eaves hung with glowing white lanterns and fabric banners that clapped and flapped with the wind.
Yakichi watched as Ota stopped to buy a wide-brimmed straw hat from a vendor, setting it gently over Shusaku's head before leading him through the gate.
Yakichi moved to follow them again. But his arm was suddenly caught and he was dragged around so that he faced a short, old man, grinning broadly, flashing a gold tooth. He wore two swords but Yakichi guessed that he was more merchant than fighter given the way his outer robe stretched across his fat belly.
The old man ran his age-spotted hand down Yakichi's arm. "How much for you boy?" he asked eagerly, his breath reeking with the night's debaucheries. "Take me to your master, then so that we may do business."
Yakichi pulled away from his pawing touch. "I'm only here for my father, sir." The lie was half-truth.
"Take me to your father then, brat. We may still do business," he said, reaching for Yakichi's arm again.
Yakichi bowed hastily and moved quickly away before the man made more noise. He could still see the straw hat that Shusaku wore but the two men were walking further down the crowded avenue.
"I'm afraid that that's not possible, honored sir," he called back lightly. "My father's sure to be busy now pleasuring your wife."
The old man's companion laughed, delicately covering her mouth with a slim fingered hand. But as she winked, Yakichi realized that the girl was actually a boy not much older than he was himself.
Yakichi grinned back and ran on, ignoring the indignant slurs called after him by the angry merchant.
* * *
Ota led Shusaku into an old-style two-story house standing at the end of one of the lesser streets that crisscrossed the district. The front of it was built even with the road with wide overhanging eaves and wood rafters that formed the gable roof.
It was too small to be a brothel. More likely it was an old inn that had been built some time ago on the hill for its view of the river. The house was gray with age but still looked inviting.
Yakichi squatted uncomfortably on the corner across from the place, wondering how long he would have to wait.
Not as long as he supposed, he discovered as a petite woman came out of the house and stood on the porch, beckoning to him, stubbornly persistent despite his attempts to ignore her. Finally, she came to him, pulling up the hem of her robes so that the fine silks did not drag through the dust of the street.
"Murase-kun?"
Yakichi looked up at her and nodded.
"Ota-sama has requested that you join him inside." She pointed to the house, her sleeve unfurling like a flag, pale lavender silk painted with blossoming branches of plum.
"I'm fine here," Yakichi grumbled, unhappy he'd been found out.
"But surely you are at least thirsty after your travels, Murase-kun. And you will be more comfortable inside. It is cold and you are shivering."
That was true enough. Yakichi followed the woman back across the street to the house.
Once past the heavy door, Yakichi found that he stood at the beginning of a long hall, lit with stands of flickering candles. Even their small light was enough for Yakichi to imagine warmth stealing back into his hands and numb face.
More decorative lamps showed the way up a wood staircase to the second floor.
There was music and Yakichi listened to singing, a shamisen playing in accompaniment, as he removed his sandals and coat.
To think that another
Might love you as I do;
My sleeves grow damp...
But pleasant as it all was - best was the savory smell of cooking. Yakichi's stomach rumbled noisily.
The woman stepped delicately past Yakichi, bowing again before beckoning him with a gentle motion of her fingers. He followed her up the stairs where she paused at a door to knock discretely.
Inside, two players sat at a beautiful Go board, thick and old, with elaborately carved legs. Neither player took notice of his arrival, their concentration solely on the game.
A whiteface girl wearing a pale yellow robe and a elaborately tied sash, her dark hair held dramatically in place atop her head by several wide, wood picks, sat at one end of the board.
Shusaku sat at the other, across from the girl.
Ota smiled up at Yakichi from where he sprawled comfortably within a nest of silk cushions, a quilted brazier at his feet. His attention returned again to the game as he sipped from the thin porcelain cup offered by another girl kneeling attentively nearby.
"Sit, boy, sit," he said after a while. "Eat, drink. Join me in the one vice I freely indulge in whenever I can." He sighed dramatically. "Well, at least whenever it is possible. Watching my rival play. His Go is an art worthy of deep appreciation."
Yakichi had many questions but the one he asked first: "How did you know?"
The man shrugged. "It wasn't me, I assure you. He knew." Ota nodded toward Shusaku. "But it was my idea to invite you to join us. He would leave you there until you went home. I, on the other hand, knew you would not go. We are of a kind, boy. And I couldn't enjoy myself fully, thinking of you out there, hungry and waiting in the cold."
Yakichi frowned, rankled by the man's easy confidence. But tempted as he was to leave to prove the man wrong, the sound of the stones in play was equally compelling. Finally, he decided to sit, selecting a place close enough so he could watch the game too.
A tray appeared at his side, covered with small plates and bowls of food. And as hungry as he was, he only picked at it absently, thinking nothing more of it than something to feed his belly while he watched Shusaku played the girl.
It was an interesting game. Nothing as dramatic as the older man had implied it to be but it did have a certain charm as Shusaku led his opponent through several exercises meant to teach a new player about invading large, unguarded territory.
It wasn't long until the girl surrendered, bowing low as she offered her grateful thanks to Shusaku for his kind and forgiving instruction. Shusaku, in turn, politely bowed his head, accepting the girl's generous words of thanks.
"You are growing stronger, Kiyo-chan," he said, gently removing the white stones as the girl collected the black. "I can tell that you've been studying."
The girl smiled, the expression making her face even prettier. "Oh no, sensei, it is all to your credit that I have what small skill I may bring to the game."
"But it's true, Ota-sama, that Kiyo-chan is often complimented on the beautiful way she plays Go," the older woman said with some amount of pride. "She is asked to play quite often."
The man laughed, nodding happily. "Of course, Of course. Didn't I tell you, my dear? You are a wonderful teacher."
Shusaku regarded the empty board. "Shall we play?" he asked.
"Yes, I suppose we should give the boy something more exciting, eh?" Ota gave his cup back to the girl and waved his hand, sending her to sit next to Yakichi.
The girl at the board yielded her place to the older man with another deep bow and came to sit at Yakichi's side, discretely signaling the other to take away the tray of empty dishes before offering Yakichi a small cup neatly filled from a small iron pot.
Yakichi thought to refuse it. But after some time, as the light thrust and parry of the game's opening turned to heated, aggressive fighting midgame, he realized that he'd been drinking since the beginning.
Odd though. He didn't feel any different.
Ota stood stiffly, announcing the need to relieve his bladder. He stopped a moment to smile down at Yakichi where he lay comfortably in the girl's soft lap. "It's a good game," Yakichi thought to say. The man smiled again.
By his count, Shusaku-sensei was ahead by five stones. Yakichi thought to get up and move closer so that he could better study the sequence of moves cleverly done in an upper corner but the girl's hand lay cool on his brow and rising seemed unworthy of the effort.
Instead, Yakichi held his hand out, a bit wobbly, to play his own stone but the girl wrapped the fingers of his hand around another full cup. He laughed, thwarted, and drank it all down, messily spilling some on his robe.
The girl, sweet girl, dabbed at the spill with the sleeve of her own robe.
Don't, he wanted to say. But that also seemed unworthy of the effort and he closed his eyes to rest.
Truly, for a moment only.
* * *
Yakichi woke, head aching, finding that the room was dark now, most of the lanterns from before put out except for a small shallow dish of oil with a stub worth of wick and its yellow flickering flame. But even that little light hurt his eyes.
He managed to sit and then stand, wobbling about like a round-bottom doll, until he found his balance. Even then, he tripped and almost fell over the Go board still covered with stones. Yakichi stared at it stupidly for a time before deciding to take the lamp with him while he looked for the way out.
And came to two doors.
Unsure of the door that would take him to the stairs, he selected one with an unsteady hand.
And discovered another room, smaller and more intimate. The light of his lamp fell softly on those that slept within, lovers, entwined in their sleep, like the stones, black in white and white in black. Yakichi closed the door softly, leaving them to their rest.
"Murase-kun, would you care to finish the game?" a young man asked, sitting at the Go board.
By his white robes and tall headwear, he looked like a shrine priest or one devoted to the yin-yang mysteries. Yes, Yakichi could almost believe that but for the fall of dark violet hair that fell over the man's shoulders and down his back, gathered with a curl of white paper, woman-like. But there was also something equally masculine about the man's intent expression that spoke of an inner warrior-like resolve and strength.
"Who are you? What are you?" he asked.
"I was once known as Fujiwara no Sai and Go instructor to the emperor of Kyo."
Yakichi knew.
This then was the face of Shusaku's shadow.
* * * * *
Edo, 1848
* * * * *
The day that Yakichi was awarded his shodan diploma, it was announced that Shuwa was to become the fourteenth Honinbo, head of the Honinbo School and that Shusaku was to be named his heir.
Yakichi knew the rumors and there was always talk, whispers overheard as he passed through the school's hallways and in the dormitories late at night.
Most thought it strange that Honinbo Jowa had been so easily made the shogun's Minister of Go and awarded the Meijin title in the first place, considering the amount of bad feeling that existed between the four major Go houses.
But it was true, they would say too, that Honinbo Jowa defeated the champion selected by Inoue House. Was not the master's strength so overwhelming that the challenger vomited blood at the moment of his defeat?
Gennan, head of Inoue House and Jowa's bitterest critic lodged angry and frequent protests with the shogun's commissioner of temples and shrines after the deed was done, to little effect.
As did old Senchi, head of Yasui House.
And the fourth? Hayashi had always been known to be a strong ally of the Honinbo House.
Strange then, Yakichi heard, were rumors of improprieties and dishonorable acts, said to have been reported by Hayashi Gembi himself.
Jowa's sudden resignation caused talk even among the disciples of the school.
As did his resignation as head of the house.
Josaku, Jowa's heir then became Honinbo's thirteenth head. But the man's health had always been poor. So it surprised few when the man stepped down, naming his student Shuwa as the fourteenth Honinbo.
But now what Yakichi heard whispered in hallways and in the dormitories at night was not stories about Jowa's political intrigues or Josaku's failing health or even tales about Shuwa, the school's new head.
Instead, the talk was all rumors and speculation about a school student, one who when offered the recognition and honor and prestige of being named heir for Honinbo House by the school's master, did not accept it.
What was his reason? What was his excuse? What was Shusaku thinking?
* * *
"What are you thinking?" Ota asked, lounging like some great cat as was his custom. Shusaku sighed heavily, closing his eyes, finally yielding to the guidance of the older man's hands, resting his head in Ota's lap.
"I just want to play Go."
"So if that's what you desire my dear, play Go," Ota answered pragmatically.
They had come again to the house in Yoshiwara.
Yakichi eyed the older man suspiciously as he waited for the girl to play her hand. The game was slow and not particularly interesting but he had agreed to it when Shusaku asked him.
"It's not that simple, Ota-sama," Shusaku mumbled tiredly.
"Everything's that simple, my dear. It is you who make things complicated." Ota's fingers toyed with Shusaku's robe, tracing its edge from the nape of his neck to where the sash held it closed.
Yakichi slammed the stone down hard on the board with a loud clack. Startled, the girl squeaked.
"I do not want to be heir."
"So refuse."
"I want to play for the shogun."
"Ah, the castle games."
"Yes." Shusaku sat up, pulling Ota's hand from his robe. "Is it so wrong to want to play the strongest players?"
It was the older man's turn to sigh. "Of course not, my dear. We all do."
"Not you." Shusaku reached over to touch the ribbon that tied Ota's dark hair. He worked it free, encouraging the man's hair to fall evenly over his shoulders. "You are a vain creature to let this keep you away. Did you know, Murase-kun?
Yakichi pretended fascination of the girl's clumsy style. "Know what, sensei?" he asked distractedly.
"One must shave the head before being allowed to play for the shogun. To show one's proper humility." Shusaku pulled Ota's shining hair playfully. "Yet this one refuses."
Yakichi knew that Ota was jozu, a seven-dan player, a rank not usually awarded to a player unless he had played for the shogun. He dropped his stone carelessly and looked down at it with dismay when the girl suddenly giggled, capturing it.
"How is it that Ota-sama is jozu?" he asked peevishly, attacking the girl's weak group along the right side of the board. She had left it too long, unprotected with only one eye.
"Ota-sama's strength is one most readily acknowledged," Shusaku answered.
"Made them give it to me," Ota added, grabbing Shusaku's wrist as the younger man played with his hair. "Come my dear, I believe that we have distracted the poor boy enough from his game. Think of his shame if he should lose to the girl."
The girl giggled again as the door slid shut with an eager rattle.
* * *
The girl was gone when Yakichi woke, the fragrance of their coupling still heavy in the air. He found water and drank before acknowledging him.
"Fujiwara-san," he said finally, deciding it was cooler to leave his robe and sat across from the ghost clad only in his loincloth tied loosely over sticky genitals. He would be glad for a bath before returning to the school.
"You played carelessly, Murase-kun. And to compensate, you became cruel," the ghost said sadly, looking over the edge of his fan at the game still spread out on the board.
He had been too eager for the girl this time to put away the stones. He shrugged. "She should learn to play for real. The game is not some silly amusement for love-play." He picked up a stone and tossed it indifferently into its bowl.
"What troubles you, Murase-kun? I know it is not Kiyo-chan."
Yakichi gathered more stones, dropping each into the bowl. "My mother once told me that the shadows I saw were the shades of guardian spirits. I always thought she said it as a way to placate a child with a... sensitive... imagination."
The ghost remained silent.
"Are you? Are you Shusaku's guardian spirit?"
"I do not know, Murase-kun" the ghost answered. "I only know that I could not give the game up. I just want to play Go."
"You sound like sensei."
The ghost said nothing again.
"Fujiwara-san, do you know why Shusaku-sensei will not become heir? I know he wants nothing more than to play in the castle games. As heir, his participation would be guaranteed."
"Yes," the ghost answered sadly. "But he does not want the marriage."
"Marriage?"
The ghost raised his fan, covering his face. "Torajiro was told that Honinbo Jowa's daughter was of suitable age and would make him a good wife. He is expected to marry her before he can be acknowledged as heir."
Yakichi recalled the girl. She was comely enough with a round face and full hips. She showed no interest in the game but took charge of her household tasks without much complaint. As far as Yakichi was concerned, she would probably make Shusaku a fine a wife as any other.
"So why doesn't he marry her?"
"Torajiro does not want the girl," the ghost answered matter-of-factly.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Once married, Murase-kun, Torajiro will be expected to give up his youthful affairs." The ghost sighed. "Even if it means abandoning his desire to play before the shogun, Torajiro will not give up Ota-san so easily."
Ota? The man was a puffed up ego barely walking upright on two legs. He might be a strong player but he was an ass, something he readily flaunted by giving up the chance to play in the castle games to keep his pretty hair.
A cruelty as well, a constant reminder of something so easily within reach of one, forever denied the other.
Ota was not worthy of Shusaku.
And he would prove it.
* * *
Yakichi wrote two letters.
One he left at the school, in Shusaku's room.
The other he delivered himself.
* * *
The girl was very helpful, eager even to aid Yakichi play his little joke. She brought food and drink, special incense and fresh bedding.
And a special robe.
The slick feel of the green silk against his skin intrigued Yakichi, discovering too the garment's unusual fit, exposing his neck and collarbone. He fingered the fine embroidery of the collar, a dozen dragonflies, each with gold thread eyes and iridescent wings playfully done so that it appeared their flight took them into and inside the robe.
The girl showed him how to knot the sash made of a stiff blue material with a scrolling vine design. The tying was unusual but one he readily learned. It was certainly easily undone.
He kissed the girl gently. It was time. She smiled, her eyes speaking eloquently of her admiration.
"Murase-san, if you ever tire of playing Go, I'm sure that you could live well with us here, taking only lovers that suited you. It's not such a bad life."
He returned her smile.
* * *
Yakichi pretended sleep, arranging the robe as the girl had suggested so that it fell open at his knee. He was little surprised by the feel of the other's warm hand on his leg. A lingering touch, hastily withdrawn as soon as Yakichi stirred.
"I fell asleep," he said, rubbing his eyes, shrugging his shoulders as he pretended to ease stiffness. He felt the smooth slide of silk as the robe stretched with his movements.
"I see."
Yakichi came to his knees gracefully and bowed low so that his forehead pressed against the reed mat fragrant of newly cut grass. "Ota-sama, I must share sad news. Shusaku-senpai sends his regrets that he will not be able to come tonight after all."
The older man crumbled the note that Yakichi had delivered to his house that morning, tossing it aside with disappointment. "I'm sorry to hear it, boy."
"Senpai asked me to come in his place."
"Then I should go so that you can..." Ota began but did not finish as Yakichi reached up to gently touch his hand.
"I have already finished with the girl's lesson, Ota-sama. I was hoping that you would do me the honor of playing a game with me."
Ota's eyes narrowed as he stared down at Yakichi's hand. Yakichi raised his head and smiled.
"Which shall it be today, Ota-sama? The wide dish or the narrow?" Yakichi pointed to the cups that the girl had set out, a wide shallow silver dish and a tall, elegant one of gold.
Remembering, Ota laughed, suddenly cheered. "Both, I think, boy. Buddha's balls, you look almost too good in that robe. Where did you come by it?"
Yakichi generously filled the gold cup and handed it to the man as he took his place at the board. Yakichi poured for himself too and sipped delicately from the shallow silver bowl.
Ota drank deeply and passed his cup back to Yakichi who filled it neatly. Ota took it back, his fingers lingering for a moment on Yakichi's wrist. "I guess this makes me the stork," he said grinning.
"Yes, Ota-sama," Yakichi agreed. "And I am the fox."
* * *
This time the hand was rougher, shaking him from genuine sleep. He opened his eyes and saw that it was still dark. A shadow moved slowly through the outer room. Yakichi knew him though by the shadow that kept him company.
"Shusaku-senpai," he said. He tried to sit up but discovered that Ota kept him by his side, his arm wrapped possessively around Yakichi's waist.
The older man was still asleep. Or was unconscious. Yakichi did not care much whichever it was.
Shusaku came back, stopping at the door. He carried a lantern, soft light shining through the elaborate geometric design of its metal face.
"Get dressed, Murase-kun."
Yakichi threw off the dead weight of the man's arm and tried to sit up. He hurt in deep places. He dragged the green robe over to the bedding from where the older man had tossed it earlier and struggled to pull it over his arms.
He wondered if he would be able to walk.
He managed to come to his feet and staggered the few steps to the outer room, supporting himself by holding onto the frame of the door.
Shusaku sat at one side of the Go board. Fujiwara no Sai sat impassively at the other.
"It is a good game," Shusaku said quietly. "You played well."
"Ota-sama was drunk," Yakichi said as explanation.
"I understand, Murase-kun. We should go back before the gate is closed."
* * *
After receiving the approval of the Lord of Mihara,
the noble that had sent an eight-year-old boy
to Edo to better learn his craft:
Shusaku agreed to become the new Honinbo heir.
And by year's end, he was married to his master's daughter.
* * * * *
Edo, 1849
* * * * *
The Honinbo heir, made 6-dan in recognition of his new status, played in the castle games the year after his marriage to Jowa's daughter. Selected to play against the head of the Yasui House for this inaugural game, the young heir, playing black, won the game by eleven points.
An auspicious beginning, many said.
The shogun, impressed by the poise and skill displayed by the Honinbo heir, called for an additional game to be played for his private viewing, the o-konomi. This time the boy was to play the head of the Sakaguchi School, an exceptionally strong player from a minor house loosely aligned with the Yasui School.
Black forced White's resignation after 131 moves.
The games were discussed eagerly by the disciples of all the great houses.
Of course, Yakichi had already known that Honinbo House would readily win both games against the Yasui.
Shusaku's pride would not have allowed for anything else.
* * *
Yakichi received the letter two days after the castle games had finished, inviting him to come once more to the house in Yoshiwara. It had been elegantly written by the girl but Yakichi knew the letter's true author.
As the invitation had been given such a pretty face, Yakichi went, meeting the girl who took him to Ota, the man already drunk, studying the o-konomi game, black and white stones played out messily over the game board.
"Sakaguchi is a fool," he said as Yakichi took his seat across from him at the board. "One would never guess that he was actually the Seventh's son." He felt for the cup at his side and held it out for Yakichi to fill and emptied it after, in one go, tossing the cup aside as he swept all the stones from the board with a contemptuous hand.
"Fools, the both of them."
He picked up a white stone from the scattered stones and slapped it on the board. Then a second, a space apart from the first, forming a strong shape that was not easily separated.
"But you are no fool, are you boy?" He placed another stone, this time black, sliding it between the other two. "A good move, that."
Yakichi shrugged. "It appears to me that Black is open to attack."
The man looked up, his eyes red, the heavy lids swollen, blue-black smudges beneath, staring sadly. "You're afraid that I will tell him about the letters. It's the only reason you came. Isn't it?"
Yakichi shrugged again. "What do you want, Ota-sama?"
Ota looked away as if he knew that his face revealed more than he wanted Yakichi to know. "Are you his lover now?"
It was an odd question, one Yakichi had not expected. It was presumptuous of the man to think that he could know Yakichi's reason for the matter.
"No. Shusaku is not one to break vows he has pledged to another," he said.
"No, he's not," Ota quietly agreed. "Then he teaches you still?" he asked, almost a whisper.
Yakichi considered the question. He saw no more of Shusaku these days than he did his ghost. He thought to tell the older man that Shusaku no longer had time for one-dan students, that he received more offers to play strong players in a day than anyone could manage in a month of days.
But he suspected that this was something that the man already knew. Yakichi kept his silence.
Ota laughed cheerlessly. "Pity. Poor Kiyo-chan misses him." He sighed then, leaning over to pick up a handful of stones from the floor.
Yakichi did the same until Ota suddenly reached across the board, grabbing Yakichi's wrist.
"You know, we may be able to help each other, boy."
Yakichi tried to pull his hand away but Ota squeezed tighter. "What do you want?" he asked again.
Ota smiled madly, his expression both bitter and sweet. "I want to make you strong, Murase-kun."
"Strong?" Yakichi asked.
"Strong, boy. And not just at Go. I could teach you things. Important and useful things. Go, yes. But also manners. And culture. I could introduce you to the right people, important people, rich people." Ota let go of his hand and gathered him closer, his hands on Yakichi's shoulders. "I could teach you about love, boy." Ota kissed him then, pressing his mouth hard over Yakichi's mouth.
Yakichi bit him. Sharp enough to make the man hiss with pain, causing him to let Yakichi go. He touched the wound, considering the blood on his finger a moment before leaning over to smear it over Yakichi's lips.
* * *
This then was the moment Yakichi would remember more than any other, later, after everything else that was to come, each detail perfectly preserved like an early spring blossom frozen in ice, beyond the ravages of time:
The warm copper taste of the man's blood. And the man's eyes, dark on his own, demanding everything that Yakichi could give him yet still expecting nothing.
* * *
"It suits you," Ota said unkindly.
"Perhaps," Yakichi admitted.
"Will you stay?"
"Until I learn what you will teach me," Yakichi said.
Ota nodded, apparently satisfied by Yakichi's answer. He reached behind him, lazily pulling his cushions closer, looking for his cup. Familiar things. The man acted with indifference but Yakichi knew that it was more a matter of pretending that the raw ache caused by Shusaku's abandonment was the thing that did not matter.
Perhaps they could pretend together.
"Are we not playing?" Yakichi asked.
"I am a merchant's son, boy, well schooled at my father's knee and one of the first things he taught me was to always inspect goods before buying them. Take off your clothes."
Yakichi smiled wryly. "I believe that you have already 'inspected the goods' Ota-sama."
"Well then boy, I will share another thing my wise father taught me: always insist on payment first for services to be rendered later."
Yakichi smiled, counting on the interested look in the older man's eyes. "Shouldn't I then be the one asking for payment, Ota-sama?"
"Ah boy," the man sighed. He finally found his cup lying nearby on its side. He examined its emptiness sadly. "You are most certainly a sweet piece of ass but everything's a matter of supply and demand. Take off your clothes before I change my mind."
* * *
Where love rules, there is no will to power;
and where power predominates, there love is lacking.
The one is the shadow of the other.
Carl Gustav Jung
*
by ladyseishou
By three methods we may learn wisdom:
first, by reflection, which is noblest;
second, by imitation, which is easiest;
and third by experience, which is the bitterest.
Confucius
* * * * *
Edo, 1847
* * * * *
A strange man stood at the kitchen well.
Yakichi was hungry and knew by how low the copper-colored sun hung in the sky that the hour of the cock had begun. He wanted nothing more than to finish fetching water for the master's bath before the evening meal was set out.
And the man stood in his way - doing nothing more than staring down into the well.
He looked to be a rich merchant. Yakichi could tell that easily from the quality of the man's winter cloak, made of dark velvet and plain for the most part, a common enough thing required by sumptuary edict.
More remarkable was the cloak's wide hem of chrysanthemums, a design done in plain colors that still caught the eye while pretending to observe conventional sensibilities. It was a kind of sly impudence that could only be worn in public by someone with close ties to the shogunate.
That meant that the man was some lord's favored vassal or a ~very~ rich merchant. Either way, he was not someone that Yakichi could afford to insult by suggesting that he move aside and admire his looks elsewhere.
The man looked up, his dark eyes easily finding Yakichi where he stood at the path's edge.
"May I share a tale with you, boy?"
Now this was a most extraordinary face, Yakichi decided, like the man's cloak, thinking the man could be forgiven some time spent in contemplation of such classic features: smooth white skin and dark colored lips, thickly shaped eyebrows that crowned the man's piercing eyes.
He was an actor then. "A tale, sir?"
The man nodded. "Well, perhaps I should call it a fable, an old story about a fox and a stork." He leaned casually against the wood post of the well, folding his arms over his chest, giving the whole of his regard to Yakichi.
"I would hear it, sir," Yakichi said.
The man accepted that, nodding - once, twice - as he considered his audience and began:
"A fox invited a stork to his home to drink tea, setting out two beautiful but very shallow bowls." The man curled his long-fingered hand into the shape of the dish as he described it.
Yakichi admired the shape of the bowl.
"This of course was satisfactory for the fox. But sadly, given such a shallow bowl, the stork went without." He poked the palm of one hand, frustrated, with the fingers of the other.
"The fox, seeing that the stork did not drink, apologized most profusely for the poor quality of the tea leaves. The stork though was quick to assure the fox that apologies were not necessary - between such as they - and invited the fox to drink tea at the house of the stork next."
The man had successfully pricked his curiosity. "Did the fox go?" Yakichi asked.
"Oh yes, a few days later as it happens. And the fox found that the stork had set out two pretty but very tall, very narrow cups. And now, it was time the for the fox to go without drinking."
The man finished, affecting an air of satisfaction for his recitation, and waited for some sign of Yakichi's appreciation.
"I see," Yakichi said, thinking now of the weight of the bucket in his hands. He grinned, struck with an impish impulse. "Perhaps then, if the honored lord is thirsty after sharing such an enlightening tale, he may find the size of this cup the most suitable."
Yakichi offered the well's bucket over with great formality and the man took it with a broad smile.
"I was told that you were quick, boy. I suppose impudence comes with the package."
Yakichi applied himself to fetching water for the man, filling the bamboo ladle that hung from a post near the well.
As the man drank, Yakichi considered the man's face again, noticing that his hair too, was as uncommon as his cloak. It was dark, thick and glossy, oiled and arranged in a proper topknot. But he kept his long forelocks and the crown of his head was unshaven, like a boy or youth. It was an odd affectation for even an actor.
"I am Murase," Yakichi said after the man finished drinking. "I am a disciple of the house."
"Yes." The man's expression grew teasing. "I heard about your unique style of play. Something like a child scattering beans to scare off demons."
"I do well enough with it." It seemed that the man knew quite a bit about him. "Do you play, sir?"
The question prompted the man's silent examination and Yakichi grew twitchy under the weight of his regard before the man began to grin and then chuckle before giving himself over to great snorting laughter.
Eventually, he wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his cloak. "Forgive me," he said at last. "But I find your innocence charming. I do indeed play the game. Rather well if I may be allowed to say so myself. He never told you about me?"
Yakichi frowned, not happy that the man made sport of him. It was Yakichi's turn to audit the man with a suspicious eye. "May I ask your name, Honored Sir? Do you wait to meet with someone?"
"I do, boy, I do," the man said, looking past him.
Yakichi felt the warmth of familiar hand on his shoulder.
"Ota-sama," Shusaku said, greeting the man. "I thought we were to meet outside at the gate." His tone was softly reproachful.
Ota shrugged, offering up the ladle as his excuse. "Raising my cup, I asked the bright moon to bring me my shadow and make us three."
Four then, Yakichi thought, if they were to include Shusaku's shadow-like companion. It came too, standing at Shusaku's side, something like but more than a mist or cold, dark vapor, indistinct but man-shaped, a thing that only Yakichi saw.
He called it Shusaku's shadow, not willing to give it any other name. The shadows were things that he had always been able to see, less now as he grew older. And it was something that he never spoke of anymore, learning early that his stories of shadows only brought him ridicule and shame.
Besides, he knew this shadow as long as he had known the man. It seemed harmless enough.
Even so...
Shusaku was a promising and gifted student of the school.
A shining youth who had taken the time to play the young son of a poor carpenter, seeing something beyond the boy's crude, immature talent, finding something more.
Something worthwhile. Something worth saving.
He arranged for Yakichi to become a student of the school and Shusaku became his teacher.
He watched now as the shadow bent close to his teacher and spoke into Shusaku's ear.
Shusaku nodded, glancing first at Yakichi and then to the man.
Yakichi followed his eyes and looked too. This then was Ota Yuzo. He had imagined him to be something more.
Yakichi had heard already from others at the school that Ota Yuzo was strong. Actually, many said he was one of the strongest players of the day.
But for Yakichi, more than the man's strength, Ota of the Yasui House was a man Shusaku considered worthy enough to call his rival.
As if he knew Yakichi's thoughts, the man came close and took Yakichi's chin in his hand, looking him over as if inspecting goods.
"I would know this boy to see what kind of player you have made him, my dear. Surely you do not plan to keep him all to yourself?"
Yakichi frowned and pulled away, protectively riled. "Sensei doesn't need..."
His teacher's hand then was on his arm.
"I would keep him from you, yes."
The man's expression turned surprisingly gentle as he reached out to touch Shusaku's hand, the man's square-tipped fingers briefly rubbing the exposed part of Shusaku's wrist, white skin beyond the edge of his sleeve.
"Can it be, my dear, that you doubt me still?"
Yakichi wanted to shove the man's hand away.
Shusaku's shadow moved restlessly.
"Murase-kun," Shusaku said, his eyes still on the man. "They're serving the evening meal. You should go so that you don't miss out on your share."
The man's hand fell away as Shusaku turned Yakichi gently toward the house.
"Sensei..." he began, then stopped, knowing that further protest would probably just embarrass them both.
The shadow appeared to nod approvingly. Yakichi ignored it.
"What about you, senpai?" he asked instead. "Should I ask for your tray to be sent to your room?" He knew that Shusaku often ate alone as he replayed old games. Yakichi then glanced up at the man speculatively. "Or should I ask for two trays?"
Shusaku shook his head. "No, I have been invited to play at an event at a sponsor's residence."
Ota smiled smugly. "So eager then but you have not heard. There was a fire and some minor damage to Tamura's place. The game will have to be rescheduled. I came still, thinking perhaps that you might care to play at Isseki-an?"
"I would enjoy that," Shusaku said quietly.
Smug, man looked down at Yakichi now. "Go on, boy. I will bring him back to you when we have finished."
* * *
Yakichi's stomach grumbled. It was as empty as a copper-less purse. He tried his best to ignore the hollow, gnawing feeling as he walked by food-stalls parked along the crowded road. He waited now, inhaling the fragrant steam coming from a soup pot, enjoying the spectacle as the golden broth was poured over a bowl of soft buckwheat noodles. The owner gruffly greeted him and Yakichi shook his head, stepping aside hastily as the man spit into the street, turning his attention to a better paying customer.
It was just as well, they had moved on.
Yakichi wondered again what it was he thought he was doing, following Shusaku and Ota from the Honinbo compound.
They had walked for some time now after leaving the school, heading toward the river. Wide avenues of stores and warehouses became narrow streets of restaurants and theaters. Fewer people were out now as the wind from the river wound through the district like a scaled serpent with a sharp bite, a cold that Yakichi could feel down to his bones.
Yakichi wondered if it would snow as he glanced up at the veiled moon. He pulled the edges of his quilted coat tight together as he saw Ota do the same with his velvet cloak, the man's breath a frosty mist in the air speaking to Shusaku as they stood outside a gaily lit teahouse.
Yakichi realized then that he did not see signs of the Shusaku's shadow. Perhaps it was too cold for even such insubstantial, wraith-like things.
They walked on.
The hard dirt-packed road became now the exclusive way for men, samurai with their double swords and simple farmers alike, as they passed through the outskirts of Asakusa, coming to the pleasure district of Yoshiwara.
Yakichi heard many ribald tales of Yoshiwara, mostly from older students of the school who occasionally had the money needed to enjoy the brothels and other fleshy amusements of the Nigtless City.
The main avenue that led to the Great Gate was popular and lively enough, lined with teahouses and drinking establishments full of festive men and women dressed in elaborate robes singing and dancing under eaves hung with glowing white lanterns and fabric banners that clapped and flapped with the wind.
Yakichi watched as Ota stopped to buy a wide-brimmed straw hat from a vendor, setting it gently over Shusaku's head before leading him through the gate.
Yakichi moved to follow them again. But his arm was suddenly caught and he was dragged around so that he faced a short, old man, grinning broadly, flashing a gold tooth. He wore two swords but Yakichi guessed that he was more merchant than fighter given the way his outer robe stretched across his fat belly.
The old man ran his age-spotted hand down Yakichi's arm. "How much for you boy?" he asked eagerly, his breath reeking with the night's debaucheries. "Take me to your master, then so that we may do business."
Yakichi pulled away from his pawing touch. "I'm only here for my father, sir." The lie was half-truth.
"Take me to your father then, brat. We may still do business," he said, reaching for Yakichi's arm again.
Yakichi bowed hastily and moved quickly away before the man made more noise. He could still see the straw hat that Shusaku wore but the two men were walking further down the crowded avenue.
"I'm afraid that that's not possible, honored sir," he called back lightly. "My father's sure to be busy now pleasuring your wife."
The old man's companion laughed, delicately covering her mouth with a slim fingered hand. But as she winked, Yakichi realized that the girl was actually a boy not much older than he was himself.
Yakichi grinned back and ran on, ignoring the indignant slurs called after him by the angry merchant.
* * *
Ota led Shusaku into an old-style two-story house standing at the end of one of the lesser streets that crisscrossed the district. The front of it was built even with the road with wide overhanging eaves and wood rafters that formed the gable roof.
It was too small to be a brothel. More likely it was an old inn that had been built some time ago on the hill for its view of the river. The house was gray with age but still looked inviting.
Yakichi squatted uncomfortably on the corner across from the place, wondering how long he would have to wait.
Not as long as he supposed, he discovered as a petite woman came out of the house and stood on the porch, beckoning to him, stubbornly persistent despite his attempts to ignore her. Finally, she came to him, pulling up the hem of her robes so that the fine silks did not drag through the dust of the street.
"Murase-kun?"
Yakichi looked up at her and nodded.
"Ota-sama has requested that you join him inside." She pointed to the house, her sleeve unfurling like a flag, pale lavender silk painted with blossoming branches of plum.
"I'm fine here," Yakichi grumbled, unhappy he'd been found out.
"But surely you are at least thirsty after your travels, Murase-kun. And you will be more comfortable inside. It is cold and you are shivering."
That was true enough. Yakichi followed the woman back across the street to the house.
Once past the heavy door, Yakichi found that he stood at the beginning of a long hall, lit with stands of flickering candles. Even their small light was enough for Yakichi to imagine warmth stealing back into his hands and numb face.
More decorative lamps showed the way up a wood staircase to the second floor.
There was music and Yakichi listened to singing, a shamisen playing in accompaniment, as he removed his sandals and coat.
To think that another
Might love you as I do;
My sleeves grow damp...
But pleasant as it all was - best was the savory smell of cooking. Yakichi's stomach rumbled noisily.
The woman stepped delicately past Yakichi, bowing again before beckoning him with a gentle motion of her fingers. He followed her up the stairs where she paused at a door to knock discretely.
Inside, two players sat at a beautiful Go board, thick and old, with elaborately carved legs. Neither player took notice of his arrival, their concentration solely on the game.
A whiteface girl wearing a pale yellow robe and a elaborately tied sash, her dark hair held dramatically in place atop her head by several wide, wood picks, sat at one end of the board.
Shusaku sat at the other, across from the girl.
Ota smiled up at Yakichi from where he sprawled comfortably within a nest of silk cushions, a quilted brazier at his feet. His attention returned again to the game as he sipped from the thin porcelain cup offered by another girl kneeling attentively nearby.
"Sit, boy, sit," he said after a while. "Eat, drink. Join me in the one vice I freely indulge in whenever I can." He sighed dramatically. "Well, at least whenever it is possible. Watching my rival play. His Go is an art worthy of deep appreciation."
Yakichi had many questions but the one he asked first: "How did you know?"
The man shrugged. "It wasn't me, I assure you. He knew." Ota nodded toward Shusaku. "But it was my idea to invite you to join us. He would leave you there until you went home. I, on the other hand, knew you would not go. We are of a kind, boy. And I couldn't enjoy myself fully, thinking of you out there, hungry and waiting in the cold."
Yakichi frowned, rankled by the man's easy confidence. But tempted as he was to leave to prove the man wrong, the sound of the stones in play was equally compelling. Finally, he decided to sit, selecting a place close enough so he could watch the game too.
A tray appeared at his side, covered with small plates and bowls of food. And as hungry as he was, he only picked at it absently, thinking nothing more of it than something to feed his belly while he watched Shusaku played the girl.
It was an interesting game. Nothing as dramatic as the older man had implied it to be but it did have a certain charm as Shusaku led his opponent through several exercises meant to teach a new player about invading large, unguarded territory.
It wasn't long until the girl surrendered, bowing low as she offered her grateful thanks to Shusaku for his kind and forgiving instruction. Shusaku, in turn, politely bowed his head, accepting the girl's generous words of thanks.
"You are growing stronger, Kiyo-chan," he said, gently removing the white stones as the girl collected the black. "I can tell that you've been studying."
The girl smiled, the expression making her face even prettier. "Oh no, sensei, it is all to your credit that I have what small skill I may bring to the game."
"But it's true, Ota-sama, that Kiyo-chan is often complimented on the beautiful way she plays Go," the older woman said with some amount of pride. "She is asked to play quite often."
The man laughed, nodding happily. "Of course, Of course. Didn't I tell you, my dear? You are a wonderful teacher."
Shusaku regarded the empty board. "Shall we play?" he asked.
"Yes, I suppose we should give the boy something more exciting, eh?" Ota gave his cup back to the girl and waved his hand, sending her to sit next to Yakichi.
The girl at the board yielded her place to the older man with another deep bow and came to sit at Yakichi's side, discretely signaling the other to take away the tray of empty dishes before offering Yakichi a small cup neatly filled from a small iron pot.
Yakichi thought to refuse it. But after some time, as the light thrust and parry of the game's opening turned to heated, aggressive fighting midgame, he realized that he'd been drinking since the beginning.
Odd though. He didn't feel any different.
Ota stood stiffly, announcing the need to relieve his bladder. He stopped a moment to smile down at Yakichi where he lay comfortably in the girl's soft lap. "It's a good game," Yakichi thought to say. The man smiled again.
By his count, Shusaku-sensei was ahead by five stones. Yakichi thought to get up and move closer so that he could better study the sequence of moves cleverly done in an upper corner but the girl's hand lay cool on his brow and rising seemed unworthy of the effort.
Instead, Yakichi held his hand out, a bit wobbly, to play his own stone but the girl wrapped the fingers of his hand around another full cup. He laughed, thwarted, and drank it all down, messily spilling some on his robe.
The girl, sweet girl, dabbed at the spill with the sleeve of her own robe.
Don't, he wanted to say. But that also seemed unworthy of the effort and he closed his eyes to rest.
Truly, for a moment only.
* * *
Yakichi woke, head aching, finding that the room was dark now, most of the lanterns from before put out except for a small shallow dish of oil with a stub worth of wick and its yellow flickering flame. But even that little light hurt his eyes.
He managed to sit and then stand, wobbling about like a round-bottom doll, until he found his balance. Even then, he tripped and almost fell over the Go board still covered with stones. Yakichi stared at it stupidly for a time before deciding to take the lamp with him while he looked for the way out.
And came to two doors.
Unsure of the door that would take him to the stairs, he selected one with an unsteady hand.
And discovered another room, smaller and more intimate. The light of his lamp fell softly on those that slept within, lovers, entwined in their sleep, like the stones, black in white and white in black. Yakichi closed the door softly, leaving them to their rest.
"Murase-kun, would you care to finish the game?" a young man asked, sitting at the Go board.
By his white robes and tall headwear, he looked like a shrine priest or one devoted to the yin-yang mysteries. Yes, Yakichi could almost believe that but for the fall of dark violet hair that fell over the man's shoulders and down his back, gathered with a curl of white paper, woman-like. But there was also something equally masculine about the man's intent expression that spoke of an inner warrior-like resolve and strength.
"Who are you? What are you?" he asked.
"I was once known as Fujiwara no Sai and Go instructor to the emperor of Kyo."
Yakichi knew.
This then was the face of Shusaku's shadow.
* * * * *
Edo, 1848
* * * * *
The day that Yakichi was awarded his shodan diploma, it was announced that Shuwa was to become the fourteenth Honinbo, head of the Honinbo School and that Shusaku was to be named his heir.
Yakichi knew the rumors and there was always talk, whispers overheard as he passed through the school's hallways and in the dormitories late at night.
Most thought it strange that Honinbo Jowa had been so easily made the shogun's Minister of Go and awarded the Meijin title in the first place, considering the amount of bad feeling that existed between the four major Go houses.
But it was true, they would say too, that Honinbo Jowa defeated the champion selected by Inoue House. Was not the master's strength so overwhelming that the challenger vomited blood at the moment of his defeat?
Gennan, head of Inoue House and Jowa's bitterest critic lodged angry and frequent protests with the shogun's commissioner of temples and shrines after the deed was done, to little effect.
As did old Senchi, head of Yasui House.
And the fourth? Hayashi had always been known to be a strong ally of the Honinbo House.
Strange then, Yakichi heard, were rumors of improprieties and dishonorable acts, said to have been reported by Hayashi Gembi himself.
Jowa's sudden resignation caused talk even among the disciples of the school.
As did his resignation as head of the house.
Josaku, Jowa's heir then became Honinbo's thirteenth head. But the man's health had always been poor. So it surprised few when the man stepped down, naming his student Shuwa as the fourteenth Honinbo.
But now what Yakichi heard whispered in hallways and in the dormitories at night was not stories about Jowa's political intrigues or Josaku's failing health or even tales about Shuwa, the school's new head.
Instead, the talk was all rumors and speculation about a school student, one who when offered the recognition and honor and prestige of being named heir for Honinbo House by the school's master, did not accept it.
What was his reason? What was his excuse? What was Shusaku thinking?
* * *
"What are you thinking?" Ota asked, lounging like some great cat as was his custom. Shusaku sighed heavily, closing his eyes, finally yielding to the guidance of the older man's hands, resting his head in Ota's lap.
"I just want to play Go."
"So if that's what you desire my dear, play Go," Ota answered pragmatically.
They had come again to the house in Yoshiwara.
Yakichi eyed the older man suspiciously as he waited for the girl to play her hand. The game was slow and not particularly interesting but he had agreed to it when Shusaku asked him.
"It's not that simple, Ota-sama," Shusaku mumbled tiredly.
"Everything's that simple, my dear. It is you who make things complicated." Ota's fingers toyed with Shusaku's robe, tracing its edge from the nape of his neck to where the sash held it closed.
Yakichi slammed the stone down hard on the board with a loud clack. Startled, the girl squeaked.
"I do not want to be heir."
"So refuse."
"I want to play for the shogun."
"Ah, the castle games."
"Yes." Shusaku sat up, pulling Ota's hand from his robe. "Is it so wrong to want to play the strongest players?"
It was the older man's turn to sigh. "Of course not, my dear. We all do."
"Not you." Shusaku reached over to touch the ribbon that tied Ota's dark hair. He worked it free, encouraging the man's hair to fall evenly over his shoulders. "You are a vain creature to let this keep you away. Did you know, Murase-kun?
Yakichi pretended fascination of the girl's clumsy style. "Know what, sensei?" he asked distractedly.
"One must shave the head before being allowed to play for the shogun. To show one's proper humility." Shusaku pulled Ota's shining hair playfully. "Yet this one refuses."
Yakichi knew that Ota was jozu, a seven-dan player, a rank not usually awarded to a player unless he had played for the shogun. He dropped his stone carelessly and looked down at it with dismay when the girl suddenly giggled, capturing it.
"How is it that Ota-sama is jozu?" he asked peevishly, attacking the girl's weak group along the right side of the board. She had left it too long, unprotected with only one eye.
"Ota-sama's strength is one most readily acknowledged," Shusaku answered.
"Made them give it to me," Ota added, grabbing Shusaku's wrist as the younger man played with his hair. "Come my dear, I believe that we have distracted the poor boy enough from his game. Think of his shame if he should lose to the girl."
The girl giggled again as the door slid shut with an eager rattle.
* * *
The girl was gone when Yakichi woke, the fragrance of their coupling still heavy in the air. He found water and drank before acknowledging him.
"Fujiwara-san," he said finally, deciding it was cooler to leave his robe and sat across from the ghost clad only in his loincloth tied loosely over sticky genitals. He would be glad for a bath before returning to the school.
"You played carelessly, Murase-kun. And to compensate, you became cruel," the ghost said sadly, looking over the edge of his fan at the game still spread out on the board.
He had been too eager for the girl this time to put away the stones. He shrugged. "She should learn to play for real. The game is not some silly amusement for love-play." He picked up a stone and tossed it indifferently into its bowl.
"What troubles you, Murase-kun? I know it is not Kiyo-chan."
Yakichi gathered more stones, dropping each into the bowl. "My mother once told me that the shadows I saw were the shades of guardian spirits. I always thought she said it as a way to placate a child with a... sensitive... imagination."
The ghost remained silent.
"Are you? Are you Shusaku's guardian spirit?"
"I do not know, Murase-kun" the ghost answered. "I only know that I could not give the game up. I just want to play Go."
"You sound like sensei."
The ghost said nothing again.
"Fujiwara-san, do you know why Shusaku-sensei will not become heir? I know he wants nothing more than to play in the castle games. As heir, his participation would be guaranteed."
"Yes," the ghost answered sadly. "But he does not want the marriage."
"Marriage?"
The ghost raised his fan, covering his face. "Torajiro was told that Honinbo Jowa's daughter was of suitable age and would make him a good wife. He is expected to marry her before he can be acknowledged as heir."
Yakichi recalled the girl. She was comely enough with a round face and full hips. She showed no interest in the game but took charge of her household tasks without much complaint. As far as Yakichi was concerned, she would probably make Shusaku a fine a wife as any other.
"So why doesn't he marry her?"
"Torajiro does not want the girl," the ghost answered matter-of-factly.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Once married, Murase-kun, Torajiro will be expected to give up his youthful affairs." The ghost sighed. "Even if it means abandoning his desire to play before the shogun, Torajiro will not give up Ota-san so easily."
Ota? The man was a puffed up ego barely walking upright on two legs. He might be a strong player but he was an ass, something he readily flaunted by giving up the chance to play in the castle games to keep his pretty hair.
A cruelty as well, a constant reminder of something so easily within reach of one, forever denied the other.
Ota was not worthy of Shusaku.
And he would prove it.
* * *
Yakichi wrote two letters.
One he left at the school, in Shusaku's room.
The other he delivered himself.
* * *
The girl was very helpful, eager even to aid Yakichi play his little joke. She brought food and drink, special incense and fresh bedding.
And a special robe.
The slick feel of the green silk against his skin intrigued Yakichi, discovering too the garment's unusual fit, exposing his neck and collarbone. He fingered the fine embroidery of the collar, a dozen dragonflies, each with gold thread eyes and iridescent wings playfully done so that it appeared their flight took them into and inside the robe.
The girl showed him how to knot the sash made of a stiff blue material with a scrolling vine design. The tying was unusual but one he readily learned. It was certainly easily undone.
He kissed the girl gently. It was time. She smiled, her eyes speaking eloquently of her admiration.
"Murase-san, if you ever tire of playing Go, I'm sure that you could live well with us here, taking only lovers that suited you. It's not such a bad life."
He returned her smile.
* * *
Yakichi pretended sleep, arranging the robe as the girl had suggested so that it fell open at his knee. He was little surprised by the feel of the other's warm hand on his leg. A lingering touch, hastily withdrawn as soon as Yakichi stirred.
"I fell asleep," he said, rubbing his eyes, shrugging his shoulders as he pretended to ease stiffness. He felt the smooth slide of silk as the robe stretched with his movements.
"I see."
Yakichi came to his knees gracefully and bowed low so that his forehead pressed against the reed mat fragrant of newly cut grass. "Ota-sama, I must share sad news. Shusaku-senpai sends his regrets that he will not be able to come tonight after all."
The older man crumbled the note that Yakichi had delivered to his house that morning, tossing it aside with disappointment. "I'm sorry to hear it, boy."
"Senpai asked me to come in his place."
"Then I should go so that you can..." Ota began but did not finish as Yakichi reached up to gently touch his hand.
"I have already finished with the girl's lesson, Ota-sama. I was hoping that you would do me the honor of playing a game with me."
Ota's eyes narrowed as he stared down at Yakichi's hand. Yakichi raised his head and smiled.
"Which shall it be today, Ota-sama? The wide dish or the narrow?" Yakichi pointed to the cups that the girl had set out, a wide shallow silver dish and a tall, elegant one of gold.
Remembering, Ota laughed, suddenly cheered. "Both, I think, boy. Buddha's balls, you look almost too good in that robe. Where did you come by it?"
Yakichi generously filled the gold cup and handed it to the man as he took his place at the board. Yakichi poured for himself too and sipped delicately from the shallow silver bowl.
Ota drank deeply and passed his cup back to Yakichi who filled it neatly. Ota took it back, his fingers lingering for a moment on Yakichi's wrist. "I guess this makes me the stork," he said grinning.
"Yes, Ota-sama," Yakichi agreed. "And I am the fox."
* * *
This time the hand was rougher, shaking him from genuine sleep. He opened his eyes and saw that it was still dark. A shadow moved slowly through the outer room. Yakichi knew him though by the shadow that kept him company.
"Shusaku-senpai," he said. He tried to sit up but discovered that Ota kept him by his side, his arm wrapped possessively around Yakichi's waist.
The older man was still asleep. Or was unconscious. Yakichi did not care much whichever it was.
Shusaku came back, stopping at the door. He carried a lantern, soft light shining through the elaborate geometric design of its metal face.
"Get dressed, Murase-kun."
Yakichi threw off the dead weight of the man's arm and tried to sit up. He hurt in deep places. He dragged the green robe over to the bedding from where the older man had tossed it earlier and struggled to pull it over his arms.
He wondered if he would be able to walk.
He managed to come to his feet and staggered the few steps to the outer room, supporting himself by holding onto the frame of the door.
Shusaku sat at one side of the Go board. Fujiwara no Sai sat impassively at the other.
"It is a good game," Shusaku said quietly. "You played well."
"Ota-sama was drunk," Yakichi said as explanation.
"I understand, Murase-kun. We should go back before the gate is closed."
* * *
After receiving the approval of the Lord of Mihara,
the noble that had sent an eight-year-old boy
to Edo to better learn his craft:
Shusaku agreed to become the new Honinbo heir.
And by year's end, he was married to his master's daughter.
* * * * *
Edo, 1849
* * * * *
The Honinbo heir, made 6-dan in recognition of his new status, played in the castle games the year after his marriage to Jowa's daughter. Selected to play against the head of the Yasui House for this inaugural game, the young heir, playing black, won the game by eleven points.
An auspicious beginning, many said.
The shogun, impressed by the poise and skill displayed by the Honinbo heir, called for an additional game to be played for his private viewing, the o-konomi. This time the boy was to play the head of the Sakaguchi School, an exceptionally strong player from a minor house loosely aligned with the Yasui School.
Black forced White's resignation after 131 moves.
The games were discussed eagerly by the disciples of all the great houses.
Of course, Yakichi had already known that Honinbo House would readily win both games against the Yasui.
Shusaku's pride would not have allowed for anything else.
* * *
Yakichi received the letter two days after the castle games had finished, inviting him to come once more to the house in Yoshiwara. It had been elegantly written by the girl but Yakichi knew the letter's true author.
As the invitation had been given such a pretty face, Yakichi went, meeting the girl who took him to Ota, the man already drunk, studying the o-konomi game, black and white stones played out messily over the game board.
"Sakaguchi is a fool," he said as Yakichi took his seat across from him at the board. "One would never guess that he was actually the Seventh's son." He felt for the cup at his side and held it out for Yakichi to fill and emptied it after, in one go, tossing the cup aside as he swept all the stones from the board with a contemptuous hand.
"Fools, the both of them."
He picked up a white stone from the scattered stones and slapped it on the board. Then a second, a space apart from the first, forming a strong shape that was not easily separated.
"But you are no fool, are you boy?" He placed another stone, this time black, sliding it between the other two. "A good move, that."
Yakichi shrugged. "It appears to me that Black is open to attack."
The man looked up, his eyes red, the heavy lids swollen, blue-black smudges beneath, staring sadly. "You're afraid that I will tell him about the letters. It's the only reason you came. Isn't it?"
Yakichi shrugged again. "What do you want, Ota-sama?"
Ota looked away as if he knew that his face revealed more than he wanted Yakichi to know. "Are you his lover now?"
It was an odd question, one Yakichi had not expected. It was presumptuous of the man to think that he could know Yakichi's reason for the matter.
"No. Shusaku is not one to break vows he has pledged to another," he said.
"No, he's not," Ota quietly agreed. "Then he teaches you still?" he asked, almost a whisper.
Yakichi considered the question. He saw no more of Shusaku these days than he did his ghost. He thought to tell the older man that Shusaku no longer had time for one-dan students, that he received more offers to play strong players in a day than anyone could manage in a month of days.
But he suspected that this was something that the man already knew. Yakichi kept his silence.
Ota laughed cheerlessly. "Pity. Poor Kiyo-chan misses him." He sighed then, leaning over to pick up a handful of stones from the floor.
Yakichi did the same until Ota suddenly reached across the board, grabbing Yakichi's wrist.
"You know, we may be able to help each other, boy."
Yakichi tried to pull his hand away but Ota squeezed tighter. "What do you want?" he asked again.
Ota smiled madly, his expression both bitter and sweet. "I want to make you strong, Murase-kun."
"Strong?" Yakichi asked.
"Strong, boy. And not just at Go. I could teach you things. Important and useful things. Go, yes. But also manners. And culture. I could introduce you to the right people, important people, rich people." Ota let go of his hand and gathered him closer, his hands on Yakichi's shoulders. "I could teach you about love, boy." Ota kissed him then, pressing his mouth hard over Yakichi's mouth.
Yakichi bit him. Sharp enough to make the man hiss with pain, causing him to let Yakichi go. He touched the wound, considering the blood on his finger a moment before leaning over to smear it over Yakichi's lips.
* * *
This then was the moment Yakichi would remember more than any other, later, after everything else that was to come, each detail perfectly preserved like an early spring blossom frozen in ice, beyond the ravages of time:
The warm copper taste of the man's blood. And the man's eyes, dark on his own, demanding everything that Yakichi could give him yet still expecting nothing.
* * *
"It suits you," Ota said unkindly.
"Perhaps," Yakichi admitted.
"Will you stay?"
"Until I learn what you will teach me," Yakichi said.
Ota nodded, apparently satisfied by Yakichi's answer. He reached behind him, lazily pulling his cushions closer, looking for his cup. Familiar things. The man acted with indifference but Yakichi knew that it was more a matter of pretending that the raw ache caused by Shusaku's abandonment was the thing that did not matter.
Perhaps they could pretend together.
"Are we not playing?" Yakichi asked.
"I am a merchant's son, boy, well schooled at my father's knee and one of the first things he taught me was to always inspect goods before buying them. Take off your clothes."
Yakichi smiled wryly. "I believe that you have already 'inspected the goods' Ota-sama."
"Well then boy, I will share another thing my wise father taught me: always insist on payment first for services to be rendered later."
Yakichi smiled, counting on the interested look in the older man's eyes. "Shouldn't I then be the one asking for payment, Ota-sama?"
"Ah boy," the man sighed. He finally found his cup lying nearby on its side. He examined its emptiness sadly. "You are most certainly a sweet piece of ass but everything's a matter of supply and demand. Take off your clothes before I change my mind."
* * *
Where love rules, there is no will to power;
and where power predominates, there love is lacking.
The one is the shadow of the other.
Carl Gustav Jung
*