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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二十二
我从云贵交界的彝族地区乘汽车出来，到了水城，等了多半天的火车，火车站离县城还有一段路，这一带既非市镇又非农村，就让我已经有些捉摸不定自己了，特别是见到一条似街非街的路边一幢梁柱发黑的老屋窗榻上贴着这样一副对子："窗外童子耍，内外人口安"，我就不像在往前走路，而是用脚跟倒退回了童年，仿佛我并没有经历过战争，也没有经历过革命，也没有经过斗争再斗争，批判反批判和现今倒转来又不完全倒转来的改革，仿佛我父母也不曾死掉，我自己也未曾吃过苦头，我压根儿就不曾长大，让我感动得有点儿想哭。
后来，我坐到铁路边上卸下的原水堆上想想一点自己的事情，来了个女人，三十多岁，一脸苦相，要我帮她买车票。她大概刚才在车站上听我在售票的窗口说的不是本地话，便说她要到北京去告状，没钱买车票。我问她告什么状？她说了半天也没说清楚，不外乎她丈夫什么冤案叫什么人整死了，现今没人认帐，抚恤金一分也未拿到，我给了她一元钱打发她走了，干脆远远坐到河边去，看了好几个小时对面的山水。
晚上八点多钟，总算到了安顺。我把我那越益沉重的背包无寄存了，里面有一块我从赫章弄来的带纹饰的汉砖，那里汉墓群的墓砖农民都用来垒猪圈。寄存处的窗口亮着灯，却没有人，我敲了好一会窗户，出来了个女服务员，把我的包挂上个牌子，收了钱，搁在空架子上，就又进去了，候车的大厅里空空荡荡，全不像通常火车站里闹哄哄到处是人，或蹲在墙边。或椅子上横躺着，或坐在行李上、或游游晃晃，还总有人在转手倒买点什么。我走出这空寂的火车站，竟然听得见自己的脚步。
灰黑的云在头顶上匆匆奔驰，夜空却十分明亮，高的晚霞和低的乌云都彩色浓重。浑圆的山从眼前平地而起，这高原上的山峦都像女人成熟的乳房。可过放贴近了，显得十分巨大，便造成一种压迫。我不知道是不是那几块乌云在头顶上疾驰的缘故，觉得地面也是倾斜的，一只脚长，一只脚短，我并没有喝酒。安顺的那个夜晚就给我这么种异怪的感觉。
我在火车站对面就近找了个小旅店。昏暗中，看不明白这房子是怎么搭起来的。总之，房间小得像鸽子笼，头就好像顶着了天花板，这房里只适合躺下。
我到街上去了，一路都是吃食铺子，桌子摆到门外，吊着晃眼的电灯，奇怪的是没有一个吃客。这是个倒错了的夜晚，对这些吃食店我不由得也失去信任。只是几十公尺之外的一张方桌边上还有两名顾客，我才在他们对面的桌子前坐下，要了碗牛肉辣子米粉。
这是两个干瘦的汉子，一人把着个锡酒壶，另一个人一只脚踩在条凳上，每人手掌里捏一个小花磁酒盅，也不见上菜。他们两人各拿着一根筷子，筷子头点着筷子头。两人同时，一个说"虾米！"一个说"扁担！"不分输赢，筷子便分开了，原来在行酒令。等运足了气，两根筷子头又碰在一起。一个说"扁担卜'一个说"狗子卜'扁担正好打狗子，那说狗子的输了。赢家便打开酒壶塞，往对方手里的小花磁酒盅注一点酒，输家一口干了，两根筷子头又点上了。那分从容和精细，我不免疑心他们是仙人。再仔细察看，面貌也都平常。不过，我想仙人大概就是这么行酒令的。
我吃完牛肉米粉，起身走了，也还听见他们在行酒令，这冷清的街上，显得分外喷亮。
我走上了一条老街。两边都是快要散架的老房子，屋檐伸到了街心，越走街还越窄，两边的房檐都快要接上，并且做出就要散架的样子。每一家门口又都设置了铺面，摆出点什么东西来卖，几瓶子酒，几个袖子和少许干果，或是挂着几件衣服，像吊死鬼样的晃动，这条街长得竟然没完没了，就像要通到世界的尽头，我过世了的外婆好像曾经带我走过，我记得她带我去买陀螺。邻居家的大男孩子抽的陀螺让我好生羡慕，可这类玩意儿通常只有春节前后才能买到，正经商店的玩具专柜里都没有。我外婆只好带我到城南的城隍庙去，也只有那耍猴把戏、练武术，卖狗皮膏药的地方才可能有陀螺卖。我记得去城隍庙买陀螺才走这种街道，我真好久没有抽打过这下贱的东西，你越抽它，它转得越欢。可这街上人都不卖陀螺，他们摆出来的东西差不多一个样，越看越让人乏味。也不知他们这许多店铺究竟有谁来买？也不知他们这买卖是真做还是假做？还是他们另有正经的工作？家家门口摆个卖东西的摊子就像前些年家家门上都贴上毛老人家的语录，好壮壮门面？
后来，不知怎么一转，来到了一条大街，这回都是一本正经公家的商店，不过都已打烊，真做生意的反倒不做了。街上的行人照样来来往往，特别显眼的总还是姑娘，居然都抹着口红，一个个蹬着格登格登作响的高跟皮鞋。穿着从香港不说是走私也是二道贩子转手来的紧身的花俏衣服，露出肩膀和脖子，当然不是去夜总会，可总像有约会的模样。
到了十字路口，人就更多，似乎全城的人都出来了，堂堂正正就走在马路中央，也不见有车辆，仿佛这大马路就修给人行走而不是为的跑车。凭这十字路口的宽敞劲和街面上房屋的气派，我估计莫不是到了大十字？这高原上的城市中心通常都称为大十字，可较之那做小买卖的灯光通明的鸡肠小街却无比昏暗，是供电不足或是值班的忘了开街灯就无从知晓。我只好就看街边一扇窗户里透出来的亮光凑近看马路边上的路牌，还果真写着"大十字"，无疑是市中心广场举行庆典和游行的地方。
我听见渐渐呀呀的人声来自暗中的人行道上，好生纳闷，走近一看，才发觉一个挨一个沿着墙根坐满了人。弯腰凑近细看又全都是老人，前前后后足有几百，也不像是静坐示威。他们不是说笑就是在唱，一把声音沙哑的胡琴五音不正，在人腿上拉着，那腿上还垫了块布，这琴师更像是钉掌子的鞋匠。他边上一位老者靠在墙上，在唱一种叫"五更天"的小调，从入夜数落到天明，唱的是痴情的女子怎样盼望负心的情郎，两旁的老人都出神听着。妙就妙在不光是老头，也还有老太婆，都抽肩缩背，像一个个影子，只是咳嗽的声音挺响，可那咳出的声音也像来自扎的纸人。有人在低声说话，喝隅的如同梦吃，或者不如说自己说给自己听。然而，又还有回应的笑声，细听，是一个老头同一个老太婆窃窃调情。哥在山上打的啥子柴？妹在手中绣的啥子花鞋？一问一答如同对山歌，他们大概是乘夜间的昏暗，把这大十字当成他们年轻时的歌场，没准儿这里正是他们年轻时调清说爱的地方。唱情歌的老头儿老婆子还不止一对，窃窃说笑的就更多了。我听不清他们说的什么，又有什么可乐的，他们稀疏的牙齿间嘶嘶透出的风声只有他们相互间才能领会。我怀疑我是不是在做梦，察看我前后左右，都是活人，我隔着裤子捏自己的大腿，照样疼痛，这都不错，我来到这高原上，从北跑到南，明天还要赶早班长途汽车去更南边的黄果树，用那里的瀑布来洗涤这怪异的印象，这真实的环境和我自己都无可怀疑。
去黄果树瀑布途中，我先到了龙宫。彩色的小游船在一平如镜而又深不可测的水上飘荡，游人都争先恐后抢着上船，似乎并不曾注意到这阴森的崖穴旁有一个洞口，平滑的水面一到那里便轰然而不可遏止倾泻下去，只有绕到山下那山水暴啸的出口处，才明白是怎样险恶C游船有时却划到离洞口只三、五公尺的地方，就像是灭顶之灾前的游戏。这都在太阳底下，我坐在船上的时候，也不免怀疑这种真实。这一路上，充沛的溪水白花花的好生湍急，浑圆的山峦和清明的天空部过故明亮，也还有在阳光下闪光的石片的屋顶，线条一概那么分明，像一幅幅着色的工笔画，坐着急驰的汽车在山路上颠簸，有一种失重的感觉，人整个儿就像在飘，我不知道要飘荡到哪里去？也不知道我找寻的是什么？
