180 stones
Don't you get that itchy, annoying feeling sometimes that things aren't going well with your story, and you really, really need to look it over and wring it and put it in the washing machine to start pretty much over? O_o I got that feeling with this. Probably my only contribution to the story of Kazuo Ito, who died too soon.
Title: 180 Stones
Series: Hikaru no Go
Wordcount 753
Today was an anniversary.
Kuwabara had been doing this for the past twenty-seven years, and he would keep on doing this for the next twenty-seven years, if God allowed him to live that long.
First, the unlit cigarette, resting on one side of the ashtray, awaiting its smoker. Even when Kazuo had said smoking was bad he'd taken up the habit, smoking companionably with his partner. He said the smoke twined up the ceiling like the smoke from Buddhist offerings. Going to heaven, Kuwabara added, and Kazuo would laugh at the whimsy.
Second, the tray of European sweet delicacies, all of them Kazuo's favorites, which will be disposed, untouched, when the night is done. He did not like tarts and chocolates, but Kazuo did, and he'd buy them for him. He still did, on special days, like New Year's, or to celebrate a win. He never ate them, because he found them their sweetness bitter.
And third, the goban he kept in his room, brought down for nights like these. The smooth kaya had not felt the click of a go stone from anyone else's hand in years. The only games he'd play above it were all related to the Honinbo league - from preliminaries to his final matches and all the ploys and tricks he employed to retain the title. He was the only remaining player who'd play above this board.
He used to play with Kazuo on this board, in their private time, when they both knew that after their games they would fall into each others' arms, breathless and frenzied, seeking their secret happiness. Kazuo made him content with his life, just with his presence. There were times they fought - it would be unusual if they didn't fight - but Kazuo always tried to make up with him, even when Kuwabara was the one being unreasonable.
Kuwabara lit his cigarette, inhaled, let the smoke out slowly. He wasn't going to replay the game today; he was too tired from the last game to defend his title. Ogata was a very determined man, but he wasn't going to let go of the Honinbo title easily. He'd vowed to keep it for as long as he can keep on playing the go Kazuo loved. Ah, but sometimes he wanted to rest
He wearily picked up the twin bowls of stones, and started to group stones in sets of ten.
Ten, twenty, thirty, on and on he counted, till he reached one hundred and eighty. The white stones were still complete, and will always be complete.
He did the same for black, but when he reached one hundred and eighty he paused. A go set has three hundred and sixty one stones, one for each intersection of the 19 x 19 board. The extra stone was for black, who always plays first. But this go set was incomplete.
On the eve of Kazuo's departure he'd wanted to take one along, as a promised he'd return to face each other on their first game of the Honinbo league. He never really liked the habit, so he refused. Kazuo had accepted his refusal gracefully, and left for China that morning, pressing a kiss lightly on his lips.
But on the day of their game he walked into the Go Institute and found it in a furor. Kazuo did not return. The people said Kazuo was in the plane that crashed into the sea, and chances of surviving were slim. Even then he had waited before the goban, until dusk fell, and the fears became certainty.
On the day of their first game he had taken a black stone from his go set, and flung it into the sea. In agony, he'd thought that the stone was a talisman that would bring Kazuo back. He could almost see Kazuo walking up to him, laughing, telling him he was superstitious after all.
Kazuo could not return to him, because the sea and sky had claimed him for her own.
He'd held on to the title of Honinbo for Kazuo. He'd lived his life alone because of longing for something already gone. He had grown old with this incomplete go set, knowing that his life would never be completed. Kuwabara gathered the stones and spilled them into their bowls. He was still alive, and while he lived Kazuo still lived, in his memory. He will keep on living for Kazuo.
Kazuo would have wanted it that way.
Title: 180 Stones
Series: Hikaru no Go
Wordcount 753
Today was an anniversary.
Kuwabara had been doing this for the past twenty-seven years, and he would keep on doing this for the next twenty-seven years, if God allowed him to live that long.
First, the unlit cigarette, resting on one side of the ashtray, awaiting its smoker. Even when Kazuo had said smoking was bad he'd taken up the habit, smoking companionably with his partner. He said the smoke twined up the ceiling like the smoke from Buddhist offerings. Going to heaven, Kuwabara added, and Kazuo would laugh at the whimsy.
Second, the tray of European sweet delicacies, all of them Kazuo's favorites, which will be disposed, untouched, when the night is done. He did not like tarts and chocolates, but Kazuo did, and he'd buy them for him. He still did, on special days, like New Year's, or to celebrate a win. He never ate them, because he found them their sweetness bitter.
And third, the goban he kept in his room, brought down for nights like these. The smooth kaya had not felt the click of a go stone from anyone else's hand in years. The only games he'd play above it were all related to the Honinbo league - from preliminaries to his final matches and all the ploys and tricks he employed to retain the title. He was the only remaining player who'd play above this board.
He used to play with Kazuo on this board, in their private time, when they both knew that after their games they would fall into each others' arms, breathless and frenzied, seeking their secret happiness. Kazuo made him content with his life, just with his presence. There were times they fought - it would be unusual if they didn't fight - but Kazuo always tried to make up with him, even when Kuwabara was the one being unreasonable.
Kuwabara lit his cigarette, inhaled, let the smoke out slowly. He wasn't going to replay the game today; he was too tired from the last game to defend his title. Ogata was a very determined man, but he wasn't going to let go of the Honinbo title easily. He'd vowed to keep it for as long as he can keep on playing the go Kazuo loved. Ah, but sometimes he wanted to rest
He wearily picked up the twin bowls of stones, and started to group stones in sets of ten.
Ten, twenty, thirty, on and on he counted, till he reached one hundred and eighty. The white stones were still complete, and will always be complete.
He did the same for black, but when he reached one hundred and eighty he paused. A go set has three hundred and sixty one stones, one for each intersection of the 19 x 19 board. The extra stone was for black, who always plays first. But this go set was incomplete.
On the eve of Kazuo's departure he'd wanted to take one along, as a promised he'd return to face each other on their first game of the Honinbo league. He never really liked the habit, so he refused. Kazuo had accepted his refusal gracefully, and left for China that morning, pressing a kiss lightly on his lips.
But on the day of their game he walked into the Go Institute and found it in a furor. Kazuo did not return. The people said Kazuo was in the plane that crashed into the sea, and chances of surviving were slim. Even then he had waited before the goban, until dusk fell, and the fears became certainty.
On the day of their first game he had taken a black stone from his go set, and flung it into the sea. In agony, he'd thought that the stone was a talisman that would bring Kazuo back. He could almost see Kazuo walking up to him, laughing, telling him he was superstitious after all.
Kazuo could not return to him, because the sea and sky had claimed him for her own.
He'd held on to the title of Honinbo for Kazuo. He'd lived his life alone because of longing for something already gone. He had grown old with this incomplete go set, knowing that his life would never be completed. Kuwabara gathered the stones and spilled them into their bowls. He was still alive, and while he lived Kazuo still lived, in his memory. He will keep on living for Kazuo.
Kazuo would have wanted it that way.