[Nakajima]
[GEN] THREE TEACHERS IN THE ARTtrensaddiction
In more than one interview, Ogata Seiji has admitted that his first lessons in strategy came from his parents. It's a polite sort of answer, and the kind that satisfies the readers. Perhaps they imagine a doting father or playful mother playing small-grid games with their son. Perhaps they envision a traditional, Japanese household with parents fond of history or the martial arts. While neither hypothesis would be entirely wrong, neither would contain enough truth to be called accurate either. There was a time when Ogata himself would have been quick to point out that distinction, but time has long since taught him to be polite; at least when likely to be quoted.
His first lessons in strategy were not learned before an audience. His father was a lawyer known both for his success in the courtroom and in the bedroom. Ogata Taro was a master of bold advances, and while that mastery won him many victories, it didn't aid him much once the battle was over. The canniness required to juggle mistresses, once won, took every remaining ounce of Taro's energy, leaving him irritable and cold on his rare nights at home. All the razor wit he'd honed in court would turn sharply on his family in those times, and Ogata learned very early to build his defenses against his father's temper. By the time he was ten, he could meet any harsh word dry-eyed.
Ogata Aiko was subtler in her warfare. She'd been born into nothing, as she would sometimes admit to her son. Born with nothing but her looks, but they'd been dazzling enough to win Taro's attention. While 'love at first sight' was a myth she'd never believed, desire was immediate enough. She had seen her future husband's resources, his talent and his ambition. She'd sized up his worth before the end of their first date, and it had been simple enough to seduce him after that. “Men are so stupid for love, Seiji-chan, and women always know to take advantage...”
Ogata had not learned until much later just how shortly after their marriage he'd been born, but by then he could appreciate a well-laid trap. His mother plotted constantly to get the upper hand against his father, and every time she caught him out, her smiles of triumph were bitterly bright. She had evidence of every last indiscretion: every faux pas, every whore. When their marriage finally ended, more than half of what had been his belonged to her. The lesson of traps and claiming territory was not lost on her son.
And then there was go.
The divorce did not go smoothly, as perhaps could be expected. Both parents found a passion for the battle that they'd never had for each other, and in the midst of it all, their son was a handy pawn. His father bought him his first tropical aquarium when it started to look like the judge might award custody to Aiko. The gift was a clear bribe, but well chosen for all that. The tranquility of fish was a welcome distraction.
His mother was quick to retaliate, though, and she did it with a lure for her son's un-vented frustrations. She taught him go with all its conquest and destruction, then played him every evening until he started to win. Ogata wondered sometimes whether she'd have taught him if she'd known it would lead to so many brutal defeats - the way her eyes flashed made it clear she never appreciated them. Still, when she recognized his gift, she was fast to set him on more challenging prey, and if he imagined each defeat still cutting her down, at least they were both satisfied with the outcome.
Winning was something the entire family agreed upon. Despite go having been his mother's gambit, his father was quick to support Ogata's interest in the game as his skill became evident. His mother's finances after the divorce did not allow for much more than entry fees into local youth tournaments and a few basic lessons from a local 3-dan, but his father's practice was flourishing.
"Win five matches before your next visit, and I will have a reward for you," he said, after watching his son crush three opponents at the school fair. He said it in Aiko's hearing, and the value of torturing her with uncertainty as to the nature of the reward was obviously as important as the potential favor it might gain from Ogata himself.
This did not matter to Ogata. He had advanced to the point where none of his classmates or peers at children's' tournaments could match him, and destroying five more opponents was literally child's play. Five photographs of stricken losers were mailed to Taro before the end of the month, and when Ogata arrived at his father's flat, there was a stranger there waiting.
"When the student is ready, a teacher will appear," Taro quoted, obviously smug in his selection. Ogata looked at his father's guest - the apparent teacher - and, carefully not showing too much interest, raised an eyebrow.
"Touya-sensei, this is my son Seiji. Seiji, this is Touya Meijin, who has graciously agreed to offer you a teaching game."
Ogata bowed politely, feeling his interest sharpen. The pro his mother had paid to teach him those early lessons had been mild-mannered and friendly; “nurturing a youthful interest,” and never allowing one of their teaching games to come to a conclusion that might dismay his student. Ogata had privately decided that the man taught because he didn't truly appreciate competition. Touya Meijin was another sort of person entirely.
He was a title holder, for one thing, and a relatively young one at that. Ogata had read about his fierce conquest in his mother's go magazine, and could not help a certain admiration. While he could only vaguely understand the elegance and power of the new Meijin's games, the man's match statistics were perfectly clear. On the battlefield of go, this man was a warrior to be reckoned with, and the thought of playing a game against him made Ogata's palms sweat.
The Meijin seemed to sense his eagerness, smiling slightly and never moving his gaze from Ogata, even as Taro prattled on with the standard compliments to the Meijin, deprecations of his son, and offers of refreshments.
“Thank you, but I would prefer to begin immediately. My time is unfortunately limited this afternoon.” The Meijin gestured to the goban, already arranged in the living room.
“Of course,” Taro agreed, “It is most generous of you to spare even a little of your time for us. If you do decide you need anything, just send Seiji.” He shot Ogata a look to command perfect obedience to any of his guest's wishes, but then, because go did not truly interest him and because there were always cases he could work on while his son was thoroughly occupied, he excused himself.
The game began as soon as he was gone. It was an even game, Ogata playing black, to determine a proper handicap. They played quickly for the opening, but within six hands, the Meijin's skill was clear. His expression was always dark with concentration, and yet his moves were almost teasing: hints of aggression that melted into feints, familiar traps abandoned before they closed. Each form was both test and invitation, but the harder Ogata strove for victory, the more impossible it became. Worse, it was clear that he was being lead, toyed with, and while that was obviously the point of a teaching game, he had never felt so coddled.
He set his jaw and reached for yet another stone, but the Meijin stopped him.
“I believe I've seen enough for now,” he said.
Ogata dropped the stone and waited, sure that the lecture would start. His father was never quiet or gracious in his victorious moments, and the Meijin had even less reason to be modest. Discussion of his failures was one of Ogata's least favorite things - the vulnerability of seeing ones weaknesses laid out had always been dangerous in his family. At best, it would all be over quickly...
But Touya Meijin was not gloating or finding faults. Instead, he was picking up stones, and after a moment, Ogata hastened to aid him. When the last black stone slipped into the goke, he looked up again, uncertain and waiting for the expected danger to materialize.
“I think seven stones would give us a good game,” the Meijin said, looking across the board expectantly.
“You don't wish to discuss the first game?” Ogata had to ask, even as he dutifully placed his seven stones.
“Not yet.” He settled more comfortably.
Ogata placed his last free stone and their second game began. It took a while longer, but only because Ogata refused to admit defeat, and the Meijin seemed content to allow it, playing with thoughtful efficiency through the end. He seemed more pleased by the game than the victory, which was both confusing and intriguing, and when he asked to play a third time, again without discussion, Ogata set the stones up with something approaching bemusement.
On this, their third game, Ogata used the same cutthroat approach his mother had always taught, but found himself paying attention to the Meijin himself almost more than the game. The man's face was always slightly shadowed, brow furrowed in concentration, and yet his posture - relaxed and comfortable, leaned ever-so-slightly toward the goban - suggested real enjoyment. His eyes sparkled with amusement or even mischief beneath their heavy brows. He pursed his lips slightly when considering an unusual formation, and would relax them into a brief smile of satisfaction when some move worked out to his advantage.
“Is this fun for you?” Ogata finally had to ask. It certainly could not have been much of a challenge, and yet that face, those eyes, did not belong to the kind of man who enjoyed crushing the weak. There was no smugness there, at all. No hint of bitter glee.
There was even a trace of... sadness, as the Meijin met his gaze.
“Of course. It is a game after all, Ogata-kun.”
“But you are playing to win, right? You can't just be playing to play.” Without a goal, strategy was nothing but endless war: move and counter until there was nothing left to continue the fight. His parents had been fighting each other for years, and perhaps that was why, but he knew to his soul that there had to be a goal to any contest he waged.
The Meijin eyed the goban deliberately, and Ogata remembered it was his move. He looked for one that would be at least reasonably intelligent.
“I always play to win,” his opponent said while he searched, “but also for the sake of the game. To meet an opponent, to strive, to create a game together that is elegant, intricate, inspired and inspiring - that is a goal even greater than winning. In that moment, the game is everything and the players may reach through it, for a single moment, to touch the hand of God.”
There was no way to win the game on the board, but as Ogata placed his stone, he felt something shift in himself. To have a goal higher than winning, to transcend victory and reach for a game which itself would somehow elevate both winner and loser through the very act of their opposition... it seemed a bit more spiritual than he cared for, but it also seemed pure; sacred in a way that his parents' vicious skirmishes would never be. He watched Touya Meijin place a last move on the goban, then resigned. This game would never come close to any deity's hand, but for the first time, Ogata longed to play one that would.
When their time was up, the Meijin left Ogata his card and an invitation to visit his home to study further. It became an immediate priority. Ogata stopped entering the children's' tournaments, choosing to study go instead. He set his sights on the insei program, and played his parents against each other until his tuition was paid. Once he had that, he stopped inviting them to his matches entirely, and one night a week he took the train to Touya Meijin's home to study there. Sometimes he learned go from the master, but sometimes, he learned more.
Ogata Seiji has said on more than one occasion that he learned his earliest lessons in strategy from his parents. When asked where he learned to play go, however, he invariably answers that it was Touya Kouyo who taught him how to play. The reporters find this touching and fitting, and if they never understand the meaning behind the expected answer, Ogata is content enough with their ignorance.
In more than one interview, Ogata Seiji has admitted that his first lessons in strategy came from his parents. It's a polite sort of answer, and the kind that satisfies the readers. Perhaps they imagine a doting father or playful mother playing small-grid games with their son. Perhaps they envision a traditional, Japanese household with parents fond of history or the martial arts. While neither hypothesis would be entirely wrong, neither would contain enough truth to be called accurate either. There was a time when Ogata himself would have been quick to point out that distinction, but time has long since taught him to be polite; at least when likely to be quoted.
His first lessons in strategy were not learned before an audience. His father was a lawyer known both for his success in the courtroom and in the bedroom. Ogata Taro was a master of bold advances, and while that mastery won him many victories, it didn't aid him much once the battle was over. The canniness required to juggle mistresses, once won, took every remaining ounce of Taro's energy, leaving him irritable and cold on his rare nights at home. All the razor wit he'd honed in court would turn sharply on his family in those times, and Ogata learned very early to build his defenses against his father's temper. By the time he was ten, he could meet any harsh word dry-eyed.
Ogata Aiko was subtler in her warfare. She'd been born into nothing, as she would sometimes admit to her son. Born with nothing but her looks, but they'd been dazzling enough to win Taro's attention. While 'love at first sight' was a myth she'd never believed, desire was immediate enough. She had seen her future husband's resources, his talent and his ambition. She'd sized up his worth before the end of their first date, and it had been simple enough to seduce him after that. “Men are so stupid for love, Seiji-chan, and women always know to take advantage...”
Ogata had not learned until much later just how shortly after their marriage he'd been born, but by then he could appreciate a well-laid trap. His mother plotted constantly to get the upper hand against his father, and every time she caught him out, her smiles of triumph were bitterly bright. She had evidence of every last indiscretion: every faux pas, every whore. When their marriage finally ended, more than half of what had been his belonged to her. The lesson of traps and claiming territory was not lost on her son.
And then there was go.
The divorce did not go smoothly, as perhaps could be expected. Both parents found a passion for the battle that they'd never had for each other, and in the midst of it all, their son was a handy pawn. His father bought him his first tropical aquarium when it started to look like the judge might award custody to Aiko. The gift was a clear bribe, but well chosen for all that. The tranquility of fish was a welcome distraction.
His mother was quick to retaliate, though, and she did it with a lure for her son's un-vented frustrations. She taught him go with all its conquest and destruction, then played him every evening until he started to win. Ogata wondered sometimes whether she'd have taught him if she'd known it would lead to so many brutal defeats - the way her eyes flashed made it clear she never appreciated them. Still, when she recognized his gift, she was fast to set him on more challenging prey, and if he imagined each defeat still cutting her down, at least they were both satisfied with the outcome.
Winning was something the entire family agreed upon. Despite go having been his mother's gambit, his father was quick to support Ogata's interest in the game as his skill became evident. His mother's finances after the divorce did not allow for much more than entry fees into local youth tournaments and a few basic lessons from a local 3-dan, but his father's practice was flourishing.
"Win five matches before your next visit, and I will have a reward for you," he said, after watching his son crush three opponents at the school fair. He said it in Aiko's hearing, and the value of torturing her with uncertainty as to the nature of the reward was obviously as important as the potential favor it might gain from Ogata himself.
This did not matter to Ogata. He had advanced to the point where none of his classmates or peers at children's' tournaments could match him, and destroying five more opponents was literally child's play. Five photographs of stricken losers were mailed to Taro before the end of the month, and when Ogata arrived at his father's flat, there was a stranger there waiting.
"When the student is ready, a teacher will appear," Taro quoted, obviously smug in his selection. Ogata looked at his father's guest - the apparent teacher - and, carefully not showing too much interest, raised an eyebrow.
"Touya-sensei, this is my son Seiji. Seiji, this is Touya Meijin, who has graciously agreed to offer you a teaching game."
Ogata bowed politely, feeling his interest sharpen. The pro his mother had paid to teach him those early lessons had been mild-mannered and friendly; “nurturing a youthful interest,” and never allowing one of their teaching games to come to a conclusion that might dismay his student. Ogata had privately decided that the man taught because he didn't truly appreciate competition. Touya Meijin was another sort of person entirely.
He was a title holder, for one thing, and a relatively young one at that. Ogata had read about his fierce conquest in his mother's go magazine, and could not help a certain admiration. While he could only vaguely understand the elegance and power of the new Meijin's games, the man's match statistics were perfectly clear. On the battlefield of go, this man was a warrior to be reckoned with, and the thought of playing a game against him made Ogata's palms sweat.
The Meijin seemed to sense his eagerness, smiling slightly and never moving his gaze from Ogata, even as Taro prattled on with the standard compliments to the Meijin, deprecations of his son, and offers of refreshments.
“Thank you, but I would prefer to begin immediately. My time is unfortunately limited this afternoon.” The Meijin gestured to the goban, already arranged in the living room.
“Of course,” Taro agreed, “It is most generous of you to spare even a little of your time for us. If you do decide you need anything, just send Seiji.” He shot Ogata a look to command perfect obedience to any of his guest's wishes, but then, because go did not truly interest him and because there were always cases he could work on while his son was thoroughly occupied, he excused himself.
The game began as soon as he was gone. It was an even game, Ogata playing black, to determine a proper handicap. They played quickly for the opening, but within six hands, the Meijin's skill was clear. His expression was always dark with concentration, and yet his moves were almost teasing: hints of aggression that melted into feints, familiar traps abandoned before they closed. Each form was both test and invitation, but the harder Ogata strove for victory, the more impossible it became. Worse, it was clear that he was being lead, toyed with, and while that was obviously the point of a teaching game, he had never felt so coddled.
He set his jaw and reached for yet another stone, but the Meijin stopped him.
“I believe I've seen enough for now,” he said.
Ogata dropped the stone and waited, sure that the lecture would start. His father was never quiet or gracious in his victorious moments, and the Meijin had even less reason to be modest. Discussion of his failures was one of Ogata's least favorite things - the vulnerability of seeing ones weaknesses laid out had always been dangerous in his family. At best, it would all be over quickly...
But Touya Meijin was not gloating or finding faults. Instead, he was picking up stones, and after a moment, Ogata hastened to aid him. When the last black stone slipped into the goke, he looked up again, uncertain and waiting for the expected danger to materialize.
“I think seven stones would give us a good game,” the Meijin said, looking across the board expectantly.
“You don't wish to discuss the first game?” Ogata had to ask, even as he dutifully placed his seven stones.
“Not yet.” He settled more comfortably.
Ogata placed his last free stone and their second game began. It took a while longer, but only because Ogata refused to admit defeat, and the Meijin seemed content to allow it, playing with thoughtful efficiency through the end. He seemed more pleased by the game than the victory, which was both confusing and intriguing, and when he asked to play a third time, again without discussion, Ogata set the stones up with something approaching bemusement.
On this, their third game, Ogata used the same cutthroat approach his mother had always taught, but found himself paying attention to the Meijin himself almost more than the game. The man's face was always slightly shadowed, brow furrowed in concentration, and yet his posture - relaxed and comfortable, leaned ever-so-slightly toward the goban - suggested real enjoyment. His eyes sparkled with amusement or even mischief beneath their heavy brows. He pursed his lips slightly when considering an unusual formation, and would relax them into a brief smile of satisfaction when some move worked out to his advantage.
“Is this fun for you?” Ogata finally had to ask. It certainly could not have been much of a challenge, and yet that face, those eyes, did not belong to the kind of man who enjoyed crushing the weak. There was no smugness there, at all. No hint of bitter glee.
There was even a trace of... sadness, as the Meijin met his gaze.
“Of course. It is a game after all, Ogata-kun.”
“But you are playing to win, right? You can't just be playing to play.” Without a goal, strategy was nothing but endless war: move and counter until there was nothing left to continue the fight. His parents had been fighting each other for years, and perhaps that was why, but he knew to his soul that there had to be a goal to any contest he waged.
The Meijin eyed the goban deliberately, and Ogata remembered it was his move. He looked for one that would be at least reasonably intelligent.
“I always play to win,” his opponent said while he searched, “but also for the sake of the game. To meet an opponent, to strive, to create a game together that is elegant, intricate, inspired and inspiring - that is a goal even greater than winning. In that moment, the game is everything and the players may reach through it, for a single moment, to touch the hand of God.”
There was no way to win the game on the board, but as Ogata placed his stone, he felt something shift in himself. To have a goal higher than winning, to transcend victory and reach for a game which itself would somehow elevate both winner and loser through the very act of their opposition... it seemed a bit more spiritual than he cared for, but it also seemed pure; sacred in a way that his parents' vicious skirmishes would never be. He watched Touya Meijin place a last move on the goban, then resigned. This game would never come close to any deity's hand, but for the first time, Ogata longed to play one that would.
When their time was up, the Meijin left Ogata his card and an invitation to visit his home to study further. It became an immediate priority. Ogata stopped entering the children's' tournaments, choosing to study go instead. He set his sights on the insei program, and played his parents against each other until his tuition was paid. Once he had that, he stopped inviting them to his matches entirely, and one night a week he took the train to Touya Meijin's home to study there. Sometimes he learned go from the master, but sometimes, he learned more.
Ogata Seiji has said on more than one occasion that he learned his earliest lessons in strategy from his parents. When asked where he learned to play go, however, he invariably answers that it was Touya Kouyo who taught him how to play. The reporters find this touching and fitting, and if they never understand the meaning behind the expected answer, Ogata is content enough with their ignorance.