[krim]
OF FATHERS AND SONS
by ladyseishou
There was a saying: children grow up watching the back of their father. Akira never thought too much about it but he supposed it was true.
Even now, sitting across from his father at the goban in his father's study, as he surveyed the empty spaces on the board, knowing he held the advantage-why did the game feel as if it was nothing more than time spent looking at his father's back?
But of course he knew by the game's end.
"I have lost," Akira said.
His head was still bowed as his father began the review.
"Too early to defend here but the shape was correct," his father said.
"I see."
"This group should have been settled before connecting here."
"Yes, I see."
"A better position..."
"I see."
His father's hand moved over the board, pausing over the stones as he discussed their significance.
One hundred and forty-two moves.
"And this stone created good eye-potential."
Akira nodded. It was almost done.
"But this group-Yes, I wondered what you were thinking here," his father said, crossing his arms, pulling his hands up into the long sleeves of his robes.
Akira knew that this was not a request for his opinion. He waited silently, sure of censure, recalling the copper taste of desperation that guided his hand at the end.
"An interesting play. It took into consideration the most urgent point on the board. It was good that you saw this."
Praise?
The tight coiling thing in his stomach loosened.
"But it was somewhat careless. Not your usual Go."
Oh.
"The sacrifice did not allow for the correct follow-up," his father said. "It was too ambitious I think. It's not like you to be so reckless."
Yes, he supposed what his father said was true. Wasn't it the same thing that he'd told Shindou? It was a ridiculous play, no matter what Shindou said. He didn't know what had possessed him to play it this morning.
Against his father.
"But the hand was interesting," his father said again, settling more comfortably on his cushion, a signal that he considered the review of their game over.
Akira straightened, readying to clear the board but his father suddenly withdrew his hand from his sleeve, making a small adjustment to the other sleeve, ignoring the stones.
"Ogata-kun tells me that you've playing Shindou-kun."
Shindou? Whatever he may have expected, it certainly hadn't been his father asking about his casual games with Shindou. "Yes, at the salon," Akira admitted cautiously.
His father breathed in deeply, like a sigh. "I see. I thought I sensed Shindou-kun's hand in this." His father gestured with a finger, outlining territory lost by Black.
Akira frowned.
Certainly the game was evidence of Akira's poor judgement: grasping at straws, he had brought the weak group into play to hold off White's invasion, a strategy certainly more like Shindou and his "come from behind" nonsense. But…
There had been a possibility…
And if he were honest with himself, there had been a part of him that took some measure of satisfaction playing the hand. He had felt a kind of defiant exhilaration testing the move against his father.
But now, did his father believe that Shindou's Go was responsible for corrupting his own? Making his Go weaker?
It wasn't true.
Worse-would his father ask him to stop playing Shindou?
And if asked-could he?
The thought released a rush of selfish anger, like wings snapping open to catch the wind, freeing him from his normal docility and caution.
Making him truly reckless.
"Shindou is Shindou. As I am my own."
"I know," his father said.
Akira blinked.
And discovered that he was staring down at his father, only aware now that he was actually gripping the outer edges of the goban. He let go.
"Father." Akira reseated himself, looking at the stones that he'd disturbed on the goban. "I apologize."
His father began to gather the white stones, dropping each into the wood bowl with measured consideration.
Akira began to collect the black stones.
And when it was done, father and son sat quietly, contemplating the empty game board between them.
"Thank you for the game, Father," Akira finally said.
Neither spoke again for some time, the silence evenly counted out by the distant hollow sound of bamboo falling on stone.
* * * *
Shindou came down from his room, a rumbling thunderous sound on the stairs.
His father gave him a look as Hikaru passed him on the way to the kitchen.
"Your father signed the bank papers, Hikaru. They're on the table," his mother said, holding his father's coat for him at the front door.
"Okay," he said, pushing aside the neatly stacked forms so that he could check the morning newspaper for the soccer scores. A spoon fell on the floor with a noisy clatter.
Reaching down for it, Hikaru caught sight of his father's back just before the door closed behind him.
* * * *
by ladyseishou
There was a saying: children grow up watching the back of their father. Akira never thought too much about it but he supposed it was true.
Even now, sitting across from his father at the goban in his father's study, as he surveyed the empty spaces on the board, knowing he held the advantage-why did the game feel as if it was nothing more than time spent looking at his father's back?
But of course he knew by the game's end.
"I have lost," Akira said.
His head was still bowed as his father began the review.
"Too early to defend here but the shape was correct," his father said.
"I see."
"This group should have been settled before connecting here."
"Yes, I see."
"A better position..."
"I see."
His father's hand moved over the board, pausing over the stones as he discussed their significance.
One hundred and forty-two moves.
"And this stone created good eye-potential."
Akira nodded. It was almost done.
"But this group-Yes, I wondered what you were thinking here," his father said, crossing his arms, pulling his hands up into the long sleeves of his robes.
Akira knew that this was not a request for his opinion. He waited silently, sure of censure, recalling the copper taste of desperation that guided his hand at the end.
"An interesting play. It took into consideration the most urgent point on the board. It was good that you saw this."
Praise?
The tight coiling thing in his stomach loosened.
"But it was somewhat careless. Not your usual Go."
Oh.
"The sacrifice did not allow for the correct follow-up," his father said. "It was too ambitious I think. It's not like you to be so reckless."
Yes, he supposed what his father said was true. Wasn't it the same thing that he'd told Shindou? It was a ridiculous play, no matter what Shindou said. He didn't know what had possessed him to play it this morning.
Against his father.
"But the hand was interesting," his father said again, settling more comfortably on his cushion, a signal that he considered the review of their game over.
Akira straightened, readying to clear the board but his father suddenly withdrew his hand from his sleeve, making a small adjustment to the other sleeve, ignoring the stones.
"Ogata-kun tells me that you've playing Shindou-kun."
Shindou? Whatever he may have expected, it certainly hadn't been his father asking about his casual games with Shindou. "Yes, at the salon," Akira admitted cautiously.
His father breathed in deeply, like a sigh. "I see. I thought I sensed Shindou-kun's hand in this." His father gestured with a finger, outlining territory lost by Black.
Akira frowned.
Certainly the game was evidence of Akira's poor judgement: grasping at straws, he had brought the weak group into play to hold off White's invasion, a strategy certainly more like Shindou and his "come from behind" nonsense. But…
There had been a possibility…
And if he were honest with himself, there had been a part of him that took some measure of satisfaction playing the hand. He had felt a kind of defiant exhilaration testing the move against his father.
But now, did his father believe that Shindou's Go was responsible for corrupting his own? Making his Go weaker?
It wasn't true.
Worse-would his father ask him to stop playing Shindou?
And if asked-could he?
The thought released a rush of selfish anger, like wings snapping open to catch the wind, freeing him from his normal docility and caution.
Making him truly reckless.
"Shindou is Shindou. As I am my own."
"I know," his father said.
Akira blinked.
And discovered that he was staring down at his father, only aware now that he was actually gripping the outer edges of the goban. He let go.
"Father." Akira reseated himself, looking at the stones that he'd disturbed on the goban. "I apologize."
His father began to gather the white stones, dropping each into the wood bowl with measured consideration.
Akira began to collect the black stones.
And when it was done, father and son sat quietly, contemplating the empty game board between them.
"Thank you for the game, Father," Akira finally said.
Neither spoke again for some time, the silence evenly counted out by the distant hollow sound of bamboo falling on stone.
* * * *
Shindou came down from his room, a rumbling thunderous sound on the stairs.
His father gave him a look as Hikaru passed him on the way to the kitchen.
"Your father signed the bank papers, Hikaru. They're on the table," his mother said, holding his father's coat for him at the front door.
"Okay," he said, pushing aside the neatly stacked forms so that he could check the morning newspaper for the soccer scores. A spoon fell on the floor with a noisy clatter.
Reaching down for it, Hikaru caught sight of his father's back just before the door closed behind him.
* * * *