Fluffy No Go
Inspired by @Eded_ted ’s Fluffy Chess. If you find Go to be interesting, check out USGO.org, or the manga turned anime Hikaru No Go. “Ojiisan” means “grandfather” in Japanese.
Hachijo-Jima’s summers were always humid, making the ocean wind a welcome relief from the heat. Senfutaku wind chimes tinkled lightly, glass glowing with the evening sun’s warmth. Masahiro Tanaka sat in the middle of his yard, eyes not on the sky but his daughter’s son, Sho, as he ran about being chased by a squealing playmate no taller than the family cat. He shifted.
Too old to be fidgeting, he told himself. He was merely getting comfortable.
Retirement meant many things. More time with family. More time with local friends. Life slowing down for his golden years. Enjoying the harvest he sacrificed so many hours and years of his life to sow.
“May we please have an apple, ojiisan?”
Taro and Sho were looking at him and his snack, eyes wide. Dinner was a bit light as heavy meals never agreed with him when it was so hot. Masahiro smiled, slicing it up into pieces for his grandson and the little fluffy.
“Awigato, ojiisan!”
“Arigato gozaimas, ojiisan!”
“Don’t stay up to late, Sho. You have school tomorrow.”
Sho nodded, the two eating almost in sync. When done, they bowed and ran off into the house.
Sho was at school. His mother, Hinako, was busy running errands around town plus meeting friends. Meanwhile her husband, Shigeru, was over in Tokyo on a business trip for his employer.
Masahiro sat in the living room. Sounds from the outside crept in through the sliding doors; tree leaves catching the breeze, bird songs, insects chirping and buzzing about their day. Getting up for the third time he walked around the room. Family pictures aside, none of the photos held his interest long. Ribbons and trophies were passed by. The yard was neater and more orderly than it had even been. The koi pond was finally expanded, trees pruned back.
He paced its fullness a third time.
“Fine, you win.”
At the bottom of the bookcase emerged a wooden board and two dark wooden containers. And sitting quietly at the entrance to the living room was Taro, watching him sit down.
“Tadaima!”
Sho carried a small bag of groceries to the kitchen while his mother brought in the rest. She loved how much he tried to help. The 9-year-old could be a bit rambunctious at times, but then most children were. Speaking of which, she thought.
“Father! Are you hungry? I brought some sushi home for you.”
“Thank you, Hanako-chan,” was heard from the living room.
She had been worried about him. Only three months retired and all his projects around the family house were finished. Normally this time of year he would be visiting Tokyo or some other part of the country playing games or teaching. But, at 70 years old he decided he was tired of traveling so much to play Go. The long games and longer trips, nevermind the tournaments. The past few years he would always return so exhausted that he would need a week to recover from the mental and physical toll high-level play had on her father.
The sushi was placed onto a nice dish on a tray along with a peeled tangerine and barley tea. She hoped he would find refreshing.
She nearly dropped it all upon seeing him in front of a Go board and Taro looking at it intently. The board was half full of white and black stones.
“Father?”
“Oh, thank you,” he said, reaching up to take the tray. Masahiro paused for a moment, looking around the living room. “What time is it?”
“3:52 in the afternoon.”
“Oh,” he said. “Goodness, I lost track of time.”
“Taro-kun!” Sho beamed, peering from behind his mother. “Have you been playing games with grandfather?”
Taro shook his head. “Onwy wooking. Vewy pwetty.”
“May Tawo pway wif ojiisan?”
Masahiro’s gaze went from the Go board to the brown fluffy, whose eyes just looked away from his. The little one sat very calmly on a floor pillow, same as he had for the past three weeks, but his head was pointed at the floor.
He had been bought a few years ago, Masahiro was unsure when, so he was past the stage where he was insistent on playing with toys or playing in the yard all day. Most of the time he quietly rested, watching the world go by, until Sho would come home from school. The two would tire each other out before one started homework and the other settled in for the night.
Taro’s head tilted, glancing at the board. The black and white pieces were always placed perfectly along the lines on the board. At first he would walk around the board, trying to see what was going on. Eventually he discovered that if he sat on his hind-legs he could see the board somewhat. The stones made pretty patterns on the board, white and black pieces resting on light brown katsura wood.
Taro didn’t talk to Masahiro while he watched. Breeding and training told him good fluffies knew their place. Human family were above fluffies, so fluffies had to listen to them. More than that, Masahiro was the daddy to everyone in the house. He was the leader of the herd. If Taro was at the bottom of things, then Ojiisan was the top.
While Sho let Taro talk whenever he wanted, he was always afraid to speak to Ojiisan unless it was to be a good, polite fluffy. Sho’s daddy often said that fluffies were meant for children, and not to bother adults. To be seen but not heard.
But his curiosity finally got the best of him.
He had pieced together that this was a game of some kind, but it wasn’t a game like he or Sho played. There was no ball, no running, no laughing. It wasn’t on the TV, with sounds and moving pictures. It was a lot of sitting. And waiting. And sometimes something would happen. But ojiisan would look at the game the same way Sho did when he was playing on his pway-stay-shun. When Sho was there but didn’t see anything else but the game he was playing. Ojiisan would often tap his feet or squirm a little while sitting, but otherwise they were the same.
After a young-fluffy’s forever, he replied, “ask me tomorrow.”
“Oh-ho! Are you lost, Masa-kun? Surely you didn’t actually mean to come here!”
“Very funny, Ryu-senpai.”
The local community center was full as always. Many of the island’s seniors would come here during the week to talk story, eat, and reminisce about days gone by. Masahiro walked in with Taro, closing a child-gate behind them. He removed his shoes, removed the leash from Taro’s blue harness, and stepped onto the main floor. Around him were the children of his generation, all grey and white haired, playing and talking. Some with their own fluffies. All had harnesses and diapers, some were dressed up with little tshirts or kimonos, even hats. Most were younger but not colts or fillies.
“Nyu fwen?” a pink mare asked, peering over as her human mother pet her absent mindedly.
“So, Masa-kun, what brings you here?” was asked the two men sat down at a table.
“Are you still teaching Go at the school, Ryu-kun?”
“No, not for a while. I like to sleep in too much these days.”
Masahiro grinned. “Sleeping in? Or sleeping off?”
“Ai… has my wife been talking to you? A beer or two helps me sleep!”
“Anyways, I was wondering if you could maybe play a game of Go?”
“Whaaaat? With you?” Ryu stretched out his hands, cracking his knuckles. “What kind of handicap were you thinking of?”
Masahiro thought for a moment. “I’m not sure, actually. Here…”
Reaching into his bag, he brought out a folding paper Go board. Instead of a 19x19 grid it had a 9x9 grid, with characters from a popular manga on it. Taro fidgeted, front legs off the ground.
“Hey, Masa-san, are you feeling okay? I don’t mind playing a handicap match with a retired pro, but this is a bit much.”
“Oh, you’re not going to play me,” he replied, lifting the awaiting fluffy onto his lap. “I want you to play with Taro-chan.”
The evening air was cool, the sky lovely in its red and orange hues.
It was hard to believe that three months ago this little fluffy asked him to teach it how to play Go. While intelligent for an animal, most fluffies were not quite as smart as children. The very smartest of them supposedly was similar to a 9 or 10 year old, and those were a different type than Taro. The brown fluffy, with no remarkable markings, horn or wings, was perhaps more a 5 or 6 year old’s intelligence.
While Masahiro had taught many adults and a few young players with tremendous potential, this was something he had never considered. There were children who started that early, be it playing Go or Chess. But an animal that could not pick up the stones itself? Or see the board without help? Truly, a fool’s errand.
Still, it was better than reliving past glories.
He settled on the 9x9 board as it was common for very young players, and having a smaller board was a handicap in and of itself. He taught him about liberties and capturing stones. It took a while to figure out how to explain them in ways the fluffy understood readily. The stones were like fluffies and their friends. Groups of stones were like herds. Fluffies needed space like the stones needed liberties. Capturing stones didn’t have to happen, but when it did? They disappeared. Lone fluffies and herds disappearing were not good. But having too many fluffies one the board was also bad. The key was to have enough but not too many fluffies so they had a space to live and play. Balance had to be reached.
It took quite a while, but Taro caught on. It was often said that a person’s personality could not be hidden while playing, and to see Taro’s show through was interesting indeed. He was not an aggressive player. If anything, he seemed to loath taking Masahiro’s pieces or fighting over areas. It was a quiet style, gently establishing boundaries, and while not helpful? The fluffy seemed to an almost aesthetic way of play if given a choice.
He could only imagine what his play might look like and evolve into should he be able to handle a 19x19 board.
The cover of “Go Monthly” was what you would expect. A picture of a beautiful board laid out with a climatic moment from a recent tournament. Interviews, advice, and more all promised within. This month was no different in that regard. But, Masahiro bought it regardless. Two copies, matter of fact. He stopped by another store to pick up a frame and a picture mat.
When he got home, Taro was asleep. Sho had just turned 10 and the two were up late playing with his friends from school. A quiet Saturday morning was a treat. He opened the magazine and went searching through it for the letters. He eventually found what he was looking for, cutting a page from it. It was gently placed on the frame’s back, sandwiched between it and the mat. Masahiro carefully placed the frame together, tightening the back, before putting it on the bookshelf.
He adjusted it a time or two til it seemed right. With that he sighed and laughed. It was a letter from one of the seniors along with a picture of him and Taro playing with Ryu. The caption read:
“Retired pro player, Tanaka Masahiro, playing at a senior center with his ‘grandchild’ Tanaka Taro. The fluffy can play on a 9x9 board with a 5-stone handicap against an easy-going retired teacher.”
He smiled. One day of rest, then Monday he would be back at the senior center to play more games with Taro and begin teaching a few other fluffies how to play.
