Soul Mountain (chinese)
![Soul Mountain (chinese)](/uploads/posts/books/no-cover.jpg)
Soul Mountain (chinese) читать книгу онлайн
"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.
Внимание! Книга может содержать контент только для совершеннолетних. Для несовершеннолетних чтение данного контента СТРОГО ЗАПРЕЩЕНО! Если в книге присутствует наличие пропаганды ЛГБТ и другого, запрещенного контента - просьба написать на почту [email protected] для удаления материала
三十五
我梦见我背后的石壁开了,发出格支格支的声响,石缝之间裂出鱼肚白的天空,天空底下有个小巷,清寂无人,旁边是一个庙门,我知道那是大庙的侧门,从来不开,门口牵了一根尼龙绳子,晒着小孩的衣服,我认出来这地方我曾经去过,是四川灌县的二王庙外,我则在分水的堤堰上走,脚下江水滚滚,对面岸上还有一座被占用了的庙址,我曾经想进去而不得其门,只看见高高挑出院墙的乌黑的飞檐上爬着的鱼蛇,我拉住了一根钢丝缆绳,一点一点前移,白花花的河滩上居然有人在钓鱼,我想到他跟前去看看,水涨了,我只好退缩,四周央央流水,中间的我竟又是个孩子,此刻的我站在一个长满荒草的后门口看着那童年时候的我,穿的一双布鞋,进退两难,鞋帮子上有个布锁的纽扣,我小学校里那些说下流话的同学说我这脚上的鞋是女人穿的,弄得我很不自在,也正是从街上野惯了的这些男孩子嘴里我第一次懂得那句骂人话的涵义,他们还说,女人是践货,又说街角卖烧饼的那胖女人同男人贴饼子,我知道这都不是好话,同男女的肉体有关,可究竟什么关系只模模糊糊并不清楚,他们说我喜欢同班的那个给过我一张香片纸的黑瘦的小女孩,我脸上顿时便发烧,这又是我小学毕业之后进了初中有一次看暑期学生专场电影时碰上他们,说她现在长得比以前白净多了,挺风骚的丫头,还向他们打听过我,他们问我干么不同她约会,然后我就掉在女人的肉体之中,挣扎着,伸手摸到了一个女人润湿的下身,我以前没这么大胆,我知道我堕落了,又窃窃欢喜,大约知道这是一个我想得到而得不到的女人,她姣好的面貌我却无法看到,想去吻她竟被另一个女人的嘴吻着,心里明明不爱却也自得其乐,我也就看见了我父亲忧郁的眼睛,他默默无声,我知道他已经死了,便知道这不是真的,梦中我尽可以放纵,又听见匡当匡当门板被风吹得直响,我记起了我睡在山洞里,头上折皱起伏的古怪的屋顶是马灯照着的岩壁,我睡在透湿的被褥里,衣服都没有脱,贴身的衣服同样潮湿,脚一直冰凉没暖和过来,山风很猛,在匡当的门板震荡声后鸣鸣吼叫,像头粘着血的野兽,就躺在抵上门板的山洞口,我细心倾听,风声来自山岩顶上,在草甸和灌木丛中驰骋。
尿憋得不行,我翻身爬起,拧亮马灯,提在手里,拔上鞋,把用一段段树干钉成的门板后顶着的树权子撤了,门板匡当一声被风吹开。洞外浑黑的夜幕马灯只照亮脚下一圈。我往前走了两步,解开裤子,抬头突然看见面前一个巨大的黑影,足有十公尺高,凌空俯视,我惊叫一声差点把手上的马灯甩掉。巨大的身影同时跟着摇动,我即刻醒悟到这莫非就是我读过的《梵净山志》中记载的所谓"魔影"。我摇晃马灯,它跟着也动,确实是我自己在夜空中的投影。
陪同我上山的这农民向导,也闻声赶了出来,手中捏把砍刀。我惊魂末定,还说不出话来,只啊啊的叫,一边摇晃马灯,指给他看,他也立刻啊啊叫喊起来,随即接过我手上的马灯,就见两个巨大的身影在浑厚的夜幕上随着两人的叫声跳跃不已,被自己惊骇又发现惊骇自己的竟是自己的影子该怎样惊奇!两人像小孩子一样跳着撒尿,让黑乎乎的魔影也跟着跳,又是对自己的镇定,对出窍了的魂魄也是种安慰。
回到洞里,我兴奋得再也睡不着,他也在翻身。我干脆叫他讲讲山里的事,他嘟嘟嚷嚷说个开来,可他此时说的土话十句有八句我听不明白。他好像说他有个做什么的远房叔伯兄弟,大概是被熊抓瞎了一只眼,因为进山时没敬山神,我也不知道他说这话是不是对我的责难。
早起,原打算去九龙池,大雾迷像。他走在前面,三步之外就只剩下个淡淡的人影,到五步远我大声招呼他都难得听见。山雾居然浓密到这程度,昨夜灯光竞能在上面投影,也就不奇怪了。对我这当然是一种新鲜的经验,吹口气都有白色的雾气袅绕来填充吹开的空隙。从洞口还没走出百步远,他却站住,折回头说不能去了。"为什么?"我问。
"去年也是这鬼天气,有一伙六个人进山来偷挖药材的,只回去了三个,"他嘟嚷道。
"你不要吓唬我,"我说。
"你要去你去,我横直不去了。"
"可你是陪我来的!"我当然有些恼火。
"我是站长派的。"
"可他是为我才派的你。"我只没有说他的脚力钱是由我出。
"出了事,我跟站长不好交代。"你用不着同他交代,他不是我的站长,我也不需要他负责,我只对我自己负责。我就想去看一看这九龙湖!
他说那不是湖,只是几潭水池子。
我说:湖也罢水池水罢,我就要看看那里的金发舞,我就为这高山上一尺来厚的金发前来的,我就要到那厚厚的薛苔上打个滚。
他说那里不能睡觉,都是水草。
我想说是站长说的,在那金发蘸上打滚比在地毯上要舒服得多,可我没有必要同他解释什么叫地毯。
他不说话了,低头走在前面。我于是又上了路,这就是我的胜利,我只能对我自己出脚力钱的向导毫无必要施行我的意志。我无非要证明我有自己的意志,这也就是我来到这鬼都不肯来的地方的意义。
他又不见了,我稍许松懈一下,几步没跟上,他就消失在这白茫茫的迷雾中。我只好加快脚步去追踪他的影子,到跟前才发现是一棵高山栋。要我现在一个人从这草甸和灌木丛中认路回去,不知会走到哪里,我失去了方向,又开始大声喊他。
他终于出现在雾中,冲着我莫名其妙指手划脚比划,等我到他面前才听见他在叫喊,都是这该死的雾。
"你生我气了?"我问,我想我应该表示歉意。
"我不气,我气也不气你,你这人生我气啦!"他依然手舞足蹈喊叫,浓雾中听起来都闷声闷气。我当然知道是我无礼。
我只好紧跟在他后面,几乎踩到他鞋跟。这自然走不远的,走起来也不舒服。我所以上这山来并非只看他的脚跟。那么,我又为什么而来?这都同夜里的梦和魔影和一身里里外外湿呼呼的衣服和一夜似乎未睡和这种劳累有关,我有种不祥的预感,伸手去摸放在贴身衬衣口袋里的那根防蛇的药草,却怎么也摸不到了。
"还是回去吧。"
他没有听见,我只好又大声喊:
"回去!"
这一切都可笑,但他没笑,只嘟嚷了一句:
"早就该转回去。"
我还是听了他的,跟他回转去了了。他进洞就生火,气压太低,烟子出不去,把洞里也熏得烟雾腾腾,眼睛争不开。他坐在火堆边哺哺呐呐。我问:
"你对着火堆讲什么呢?"
"说人抗不过命,"他说。
后来,他爬到铺板上睡觉去了。不一会,就听见他鼾声大作。他是自在之物,心安理得,我想。而我的困扰在于我总想成为自为之物,要去找寻性灵。问题是这性灵真要显示我又能否领悟?既使领悟了又能导致什么?
我百般无聊,在这潮湿的山洞里,里面的湿衣服都冰凉贴在身上。我这时领悟到我要的充其量只是一个窗口,一个有灯光的窗口,里面有点温暖,有一个我爱的人,人也爱我,也就够了,舍此之外都属虚妄。可那个窗口也只是个幻影。
我记得我不止一次做过这样的梦,去找我幼年时住过的房子,去找那点温暖的记忆,那进伸很深的院子套着的院子像迷宫一样,有许多曲折窄小黑暗的过道,可我永远也找不到一条同样的路,能从进去的原路再出来。我每次进到这梦中的院子走的路都不一样,有时我家住的院子的天井是前后人家的过道,我不能做些只为我自己而外人不知道的事情,总也得不到那种只为自己所有的温暖的亲切感,那怕我在自己房里,墙的板壁木是没有撑到房顶,就是纸糊的墙皮破碎,或者有一面墙干脆倒了。我爬上一个搭到阁楼上的梯子,从楼梯往下看,屋里全成了瓦砾,那外面本来是一片南瓜地,我曾经爬在南瓜藤下捉过蟋蟀,颈子和手膀子上指的瓜藤上的毛,和着汗水,弄得周身发痒,那在阳光下,这在冷雨里,本来堆满瓦砾的场子上,竟也盖满了别人家的房子,简直不知什么时候盖起来的,窗户还都关得那么严实,这半截子没有墙壁遮挡的阁楼下面,我外婆在倒腾一个同她一样老的从上面揭开盖子的红木旧衣箱,她已经死了好多年了,我还是应该找寻点温暖的回忆,我儿时的梦,确切说,是我做过的关于我儿时的梦,我想去找寻我小时候的朋友,那些我已经忘掉了姓名的小伙伴。有个男孩子,他下嘴唇上留下一道跌破的伤痕,显得特别忠厚,他有个专门养蟋蟀的紫砂罐子,说是他祖父传下的。我也喜欢他姐姐,挺温柔的一个大姑娘,可我从来没有同她说过话,我知道她后来嫁人了,我再去她家也肯定扑空,甚至碰不上我这幼年时嘴唇上有伤痕的伙伴。我走过一家家房门紧挨在一起的小街,街面上的房子屋檐很矮,几乎伸到街面上来,我要赶紧回我自己的家,我外婆在等我吃饭,她一到吃饭的时候就大声叫我,光听她声音总以为她在同谁吵架,她经常同我母亲吵嘴,脾气非常急躁,人越老脾气越加古怪,她向她自己的女儿都合不来,闹着回老家找她的一些表亲戚去了,后来说是死在养老院里,我必须找到她的下落,才对得起我死去的母亲。我这会尽想到死了的人,也怕是平时不曾想到过她们的缘故,她们其实都是我最亲近的人,在这山洞里,对着柴火,火苗跳跃总诱人回忆,我揉搓被烟子熏得睁不开的眼睛。