Soul Mountain (chinese)
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"Soul Mountain is one of those singular literary creations that seem impossible to compare with anything but themselves… In the writing of Gao Xingjian literature is born anew from the struggle of the individual to survive the history of the masses."
– from the citation of the Nobel Prize committee of the Swedish Academy
When this year's Nobel Prize for Literature was awarded to Chinese expatriate novelist and playwright Gao Xingjian, few in the English-speaking West were familiar with his work. Gao's masterpiece, SOUL MOUNTAIN (PerfectBound, an e-book from HarperCollins; February 20, 2001; $19.95), is a dazzling kaleidoscope of fiction, philosophy, history and fable. Elegantly translated by Australian sinologist Mabel Lee, this richly textured autobiographical novel recounts a dual journey-a literal journey into the heart of China and a spiritual journey of the self.
When Gao was 43, he was incorrectly diagnosed with lung cancer. Resigned to death by the same means that had claimed his father just a few years before, Gao spent six weeks indulging his appetites and reading philosophy. The spot on Gao's lung mysteriously disappeared, but a new threat arose when rumors began to circulate that he was to be sent to a prison farm because of his controversial writings. No longer facing imminent death, the writer quickly left Beijing and disappeared into the remote forest regions of Sichuan, then spent five months wandering along the Yangtze River from its source down to the coast. Gao's 15,000 kilometer sojourn forms the geographic parameters of the fictional journey in SOUL MOUNTAIN.
While on a train at the start of his trip, the writer protagonist meets another traveler who says he is going to Lingshan, "soul mountain," which can be found by the remote source of the You River. The writer has never heard of such a place, and he resolves to go there, but his fellow traveler can give him none but the vaguest directions. Thus begins a metaphoric odyssey into the hinterlands of China and the outlying Qiang, Miao and Yi districts that dangle on the fringes of Han Chinese civilization.
The writer is in search of the traditions that are hidden in rural China, and as he travels he encounters a parade of unforgettable characters who embody both vestiges of the past-Daoist masters, Buddhist monks, ancient calligraphers-and the modern culture that has surfaced since the revolution: small town communist cadres, budding entrepreneurs, independent young girls grappling with parochial repression. The two worlds exist uneasily as one, with stories and customs from centuries past colliding with a world of televisions, automobiles, and technology. All is permeated by the dark legacy of the Cultural Revolution, the encroachment of ecological damage, and the harsh monetary realities of everyday life in contemporary China.
SOUL MOUNTAIN is a dazzling work of the imagination, where classic fables merge with tales of modern cruelty and ancient philosophy does battle with existentialism. But Gao goes deeper still as he explores notions of the devastation of the self at the hands of social expectations. He continually shifts his narrative voice as the "I" of the writer becomes the "you" of an imagined companion, then the "she" of a woman companion. Yet all reflects back on the protagonist, who craves these two seemingly contradictory ends-the solitude necessary for nurturing the self and the anxiety-provoking warmth of human society.
Gao began this novel in the mid-eighties, then carried the manuscript with him when he fled China in 1987. Now living in Paris, he completed the book there in 1989. His writings continue to be banned in his native country. As Gao's work at last gains the public's attention here in the West, SOUL MOUNTAIN provides a dazzling introduction to the achievement of one of contemporary literature's acknowledged masters.
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十八
我到乌江的发源地草海边上去,那天阴沉沉的,好冷,海子边上有一幢新盖的小楼,是刚设立的自然保护区管理处,屋基用石块砌得很高,独立在这一大片泥沼地上。通往那里的小路松软泥泞,海子已经退得很远了,这原先的海边还稀稀疏疏长了些水草。从屋边的石级上去,楼上有几间开着大窗户光线明亮的房间,到处堆放着鸟、鱼、爬虫的标本。
管理站站长大高个子,长的一副宽厚的脸膛。他插上电炉,泡了一大搪瓷缸子的茶,坐在电炉上,招呼我烤火喝茶。
他说,十多年前,这高原湖周围几百公里,山上还都是树林。二十年前,黑森森的森林更一直伸到海边,时常有人在海边遇见老虎。现今这光秃秃的山丘连灌丛都被刨光了,烧火做饭尚缺柴烧,更别说烤火取暖了。特别是近十年来,春冬变得挺冷,霜降来得早,春旱严重。文化革命中刚成立的县革命委员会决定做个创举,放水改田。动员了全县十万民工,炸开了好几十条排水道,围垦这片海子,可要把这几百万年沉积的海底弄干又谈何容易?当年,湖上就刮起了龙卷风,老百姓都说草海里的黑龙待不住飞走了。如今水面只有原来的三分之一,周围全成了沼泽,想排子排干不了,想恢复也还原不到原来的水域。
窗口支架着一台长简的高倍望远镜,几公里之外的水面在镜子里成为白晃晃的一片。肉眼看有一点点影子的地方,原来是一只船,船头上站着两个人影,看木清面目,船尾还有个人影晃动,像是在撒网。
"这么大的湖面,看不过来,等人赶到了,他们早溜了。"他说。
"湖里鱼多吗?"我问。
"弄个千百把斤鱼是轻而易举的事。问题是还用雷管炸,人心贪着呢,没有办法。"身为保护区管理站的站长,他也摇头。
他说这里来过一个国外留学回来的博士,五十年代初,一腔热情,从上海自愿来这里,带领四个学生物和水产养殖的大学毕业生在这草海边上办起了一个野生动物饲养站,养殖成功了海狸鼠、银狐鼠、斑头鹅和好些水禽和鱼类,可是得罪了偷猎的农民。有一天他从玉米地经过,被埋伏好的农民从背后蒙住头,把一筐摘下的玉米套在脖子上,硬赖他偷玉米,打得吐血。县委的干部不肯为知识分子主持正义,老头一气之下死了,这饲养站也就自行解散,海狸鼠则由县委各机关分而食之。
"他还有亲人吗?"我问。
"没人说得清,和他一起工作过的大学生早都调回到重庆、贵阳各地的大学去教书了,"他说。
"也没有人再过问过?"他说只是县里清理旧档案卷宗时发现了他的十多个笔记本,有不少对这草海的生态纪录,他观察得很细致,写得也挺有文笔。我如果有兴趣的话,他可以找来给我看。
什么地方传来空空的声音,像老人在使劲咳嗽。
"什么声音?"我问。
"是鹤,"他说。
他领我从楼上下去,底层隔着铁栅栏的饲养室里有一只一米多高丹顶的黑颈鹤,还有几只灰鹤,都不时空空的叫着。他说这只黑颈鹤脚受了伤,他们捕来养着,那几只灰鹤都是今年才生的幼鸟,还不会飞时从窝里抱来的。以前,深秋,鹤群都来这里过冬,海边苇子里田地间到处都可以看到,后来打得差不多绝迹了。保护区成立后,前年来了六十多只,去年黑颈鹤就飞来了三百多只,更多的是灰鹤,只是还没有见到丹顶鹤。
我问可以到海里去吗?他说明天出太阳的话,把橡皮筏子打起气来陪我上海子军转转。今天风大,天太冷。
我告别了他,信步朝湖边走去。
我顺着山坡上的一条小路,走到一个小村子里,七八户人家。房屋的梁柱都用的是石料。只有院落里和门前有几棵自家种的碗口粗的树。几十年前,黑呼呼的森林想必也曾到这村子边上。
我下到湖边,走在稀软泥泞的田埂上,这天气脱鞋赤脚实在太冷。可越往前走,田埂越加稀软,鞋子上沾的泥泞越来越厚。我前方,田地的尽头,水边有只船和一个男孩子。他拎着个小桶,拿根鱼杆,我想到他那里去,把船推进水里。我问他:
"这船可以撑进湖里去吗?"
他赤脚。裤脚卷到膝盖以上,也就十三、四岁模样。他目光并不理会我,而是越过我望着我身后。我回头,见村子边上有个人影在招呼他。也已经很远了,上身是一件色彩明艳的褂子,像是一个女孩。我又向这男孩子迈了一步。鞋子便全陷进泥里去了。
"哎-啼-呀-哟-"远处的叫唤听不清说的什么,声音却明亮而可爱,肯定是招呼他的,这男孩子扛着鱼杆从我身边过去了。我再往前走十分困难,可我既然到了这海边,总得到海中去看看。船离我至多还有十步远,我只要一脚能跨到那男孩子刚才站的地方,那泥地显然比较板实,也就能够到船上。船头还插着一根竹篙,我已经看见苇子里露出的水面上有些水鸟在飞。大概是野鸭,似乎还在叫。但是风从岸上来,可以听见两个孩子老远的招呼声,却听不见这近处水面上水鸟的叫声。
我想,只要把船撑出芦苇丛,便可以到那广阔的水面上去,在这寂静的高原的湖心里独自荡漾一番,同谁也不必说话,就消融在这湖光山色湖天合一的环境里倒也不坏。
我拔脚再往前一步,前脚便深深陷入污泥中,一直没到小腿肚子。我不敢把重心再移到前脚上,我知道一旦过了膝盖,泥沼里我将无法自拔,后脚不敢再动,进退两难,十分狼狈。这当然是一种可笑的境地,而问题又不在故可笑,而在放没人看见,无人会笑,我也就无从得到解救,这才更加糟糕。
从管理处小楼上的望远镜里或许可以看见我的身影,就像我从望远镜里看见人弄船一样,但望远镜里的我也只能是个虚晃的影子,看不出面目。人即使倒腾望远镜,也只会以为是一个弄船想去湖里捞取点什么外快的农民,没有人多作理会。
寂聊的湖面上,这会儿连水鸟都没有了,明晃晃的水面不知不觉变得模糊,暮色正从芦苇丛中弥漫开来,寒气也从脚下升起。浑身冷踏踏的,没有虫鸣,也没有蛙声,这也许就是我追求的那种原始的失去一切意义的寂寞吧?