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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三十七
这堵断墙背后，我死去的父亲，母亲和我外婆都坐在饭桌前，就等我来吃饭。我已经游荡够了，很久没有同家人团聚，我也想同他们坐在一张桌上，谈点家常，像我被医生判定为癌症的那些日子里，在我弟弟家饭桌上，只讲那些不可能同外人谈而除了家里人也难得谈到的话题。那时候，每到吃饭的时候，我那小侄女总要看电视，可她那里知道，电视里的节目都是对精神污染的讨伐，头头脑脑对各界的宣讲，文化名流又一个个表态，把文件里的套话再重复一遍。这都不是小孩子要看的节目，当然也不适合下饭。电视报纸广播的种种新闻我已经够了，我只要回到我自己的生活中来，谈谈自己家里已被遗忘的往事，比方说，我那位疯子曾祖父，一心想过过官痛，把一条街的房产捐光了也没捞到一官半职，等明白受骗上当人也就疯了，把自己住的最后一幢房子也点上一把火，死的时候刚过三十，比我这会还年轻得多。孔老夫子之所谓三十而立，应该说还是个脆弱的年纪，弄不好照样精神分裂。我和我弟弟都不曾见过我这曾祖父的照片，那时候照相术可能还没引进中国，要不是能照上相的只有皇族。可我同我弟弟都吃过我祖母做的一手好菜，印象最深的是她那醉虾，吃到嘴里虾肉还在蠕动，吃一只且得鼓上半天的勇气。我也还记得我中风瘫痪了的祖父，为躲避日本飞机轰炸，在乡下租了农民的一幢老屋，整天躺在堂屋里的一张竹躺椅上，大门敞开，风穿堂而过，一头银白的头发总也在飘动。空袭警报一响他便急躁得不行，我母亲说她只好俯在他耳边，反复告诉他日本人没那么多炸弹，要扔只扔在城里。我那时比我这小侄女还小，刚学会走路，我记得去后院要经过一个很高的门槛，门槛后还要再下一个台阶，我自己爬不过去，那后院对我便始终是个神秘的去处。大门外有个打谷场，我记得同农家的孩子在晒的稻草上打过滚。打谷场边上那条清幽的河里又淹死过一条小狗，不知是哪个讨厌鬼把它扔了进去还是它自己淹死的，总归尸体搁在河滩上好久。我母亲严禁我到河边去玩，只有大人们到河滩挑水，我才能跟去刨沙，他们在河滩上挖出一个个沙窝，从中勺取滤过的清水。
我明白我此刻包围在一个死人的世界中，这断墙背后就有我死去的亲人。我想回到他们之中，同他们一起坐在饭桌上，听他们谈那怕最琐碎的事，我想听到他们的声音，看到他们的目光，同他们切切实实坐在同一张桌子上，即使并不吃饭。我知道阴间的饮食是一种象征，一种仪式，活人不能够进口，我坐在他们桌上旁听，突然觉得这也是一种幸福。我于是小心翼翼走向他们，可我只要一越过断墙，他们就起身，悄然消失在另一堵残壁背后。我听得见他们离开的脚步声，悉悉率率，甚至看见他们留下的空桌子。当然，瞬间桌面就长满了兽药，毛茸茸的，又断裂了，坍塌在乱石堆中，缝隙间立刻长出了荒草。我还知道他们在另一间倒塌的房间里正议论我，不赞成我的行为，都为我忧虑。我其实没有什么要他们忧虑的，他们偏要忧虑，我想也许是死人通常都好为活人担忧。他们在窃窃交谈，我耳朵一贴到这毛茸茸潮湿的石壁上，他们就不说话了，改用眼色交谈，说我不能这样下去，我需要一个正常的家庭，应该为我找一个贤慧的妻子，一个能照料我饮食为我持家的女人，我所以得了不治之症，都是饮食不当的缘故。他们在合谋如何干预我的生活，我应该告诉他们毋须他们操心，我人到中年有我的生活方式，我这种生活方式也是我自己选择的，不会回到他们为我设计的轨道上去。我无法像他们那样过日子，何况他们的日子过得未必就好，但我止不住想念他们，想看见他们，听到他们的声音，同他们谈我记忆中的往事。我想问问我母亲，她是不是带我在湘江上坐过船？我记得在一只蔑篷的木船里，窄狭的篷舱里两边各搭了一条木板，人一个紧挨一个坐，对面的膝盖都相互碰上。从蔑篷里看得见江水快没到船舷，船身不断摇晃，可没有一个人出声，都装出若无其事的样子，心里想必全明白，这超载的满满一船随时都可能沉没，可就没有一个人道破。我也装做不知道的样子，不哭不闹，也努力不去想那随时都可能发生的灭顶之灾，我想问她那是不是也在逃难？我要是在湘江找到这样一条船，这记忆就确有其事。我还想问她，是不是在猪圈里躲过土匪？那天也同这天气一样，下的细雨，汽车在山路上一个上坡的急转弯处抛锚，司机直后悔，说他方向盘再打紧一点就好了，一边的前后车轮就不至于陷进路旁的稀泥里。我记得是右手的轮子，因为后来车上的人都下来把行李全搬到左边贴着山坡的公路边上，又都去推车，可车轮光在泥里打滑就爬不出去。车帮子上还装了个生木炭的炉子，那时还在打仗，非军用车辆弄不到汽油。这车每次发动都要用铁摇手使劲去转，直到听见汽车放屁才能起动。汽车那时同人一样，只有放掉肚子里的气上路方才舒服，可这车就是放屁轮子也只会打滑，溅得推车的人满脸是泥。司机一再招呼过往的车子，就没有一辆肯停下帮忙，那样的天气，天色那样昏暗，都纷纷在逃难。最后的一部车子亮着发黄的灯光，像野兽的眼睛，擦边过去了。后来就摸黑冒雨上山，泥泞的山路，一次又一次滑倒，一个拖住一个的衣服，全都是老人妇女和小孩，好容易摸到了一家没有灯光的农家，人死也不肯开门。众人只好挤在这家人的猪圈里避雨，背后墨黑的山影里半夜连连响枪，还闪烁一串火把，都说过的是土匪，吓得难也不敢吭声。
我跨过这堵断墙，墙后只有一棵小叶黄杨，长得有小手指粗，风中颤颤抖动，在这颓败的没有屋顶的房间当中。对面还剩下半堵窗户，可以依在窗口往外张望。杜鹃和箭竹丛中露出些黑的石茶，同样长满了苔燕，远看显得相当柔和，像躺着的人的肢体，一些弓起的膝盖和伸出的手臂。金顶上这寺庙当年有上千间殿堂和增房，山风凌厉全盖的铁瓦。众多的僧尼陪同明代万历皇帝的父亲的第九个皇妃，在这里修行，那晨钟暮鼓一派香火的盛况不可能不留下痕迹。我想找到点当年的遗物，却只翻到了一角断残的石碑，五百年来连铁瓦莫非也全都锈完？
