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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四十一
我到这里的时候，两年前他已经死了。他当时是这远近上百个苗寨里还活着的最后一名祭师，数十年来却没有再做过那么盛大的祭祖仪式。他知道自己归天的日子不远了，还能活到这高龄，全仗他以往祭过祖宗的缘故，众多的魔鬼才不敢轻易伤害他。他怕哪个早晨要是起不来，就过不了那个冬天。
他乘腿脚还能活动，那除夕夜，扛上堂屋里的方桌，从屋门口的石阶上下来，摆在自家的吊脚楼前。肃瑟的河滩上没有一个人影，家家关门闭户都在屋里吃年饭。他们如今即便祭祖先，也同办年饭一样，弄得越来越简朴。人是一辈一辈衰弱了，这已无可挽回。
他摆上一碗水酒，一碗豆腐，一碗糯米年糕，还有邻家送来的一碗牛杂碎，在桌子底下再搁一个扎好的糯谷把子，又在桌前堆上柴炭，就很吃力，站住歇了口气。然后才爬上石阶，回到屋里灶堂夹来一块炭火，缓缓蹲下，趴在地上用嘴去吹，烟子黛得他干涩的老眼流泪。终于呼的一下冒起火苗，他着实咳嗽了好一阵子，喝了口桌上祭祖的水酒，才压了下去。对岸苍山顶上的一线余晖消失了，河面上晚风呜咽起来。他端息着在桌前的高凳子上坐下，踩着桌下的糯谷把子，心里方才踏实，抬头望着深黛的山脉，感到渗和泪水的鼻涕有些冰凉。
他当年祭祖的时候，得二十四个人供他调遣，通师二人，主事二人，端道具的二人，司礼二人，长刀二人，持酒二人，施肴二人，龙文二人，传达二人，损饭团数人，多大的排场，少则宰牛三头，多达九头。
祭家主人光为了酬谢他就得送七道糯米：第一道，上山砍鼓树，七缸。第二道，抬鼓进洞，八缸。第三道，拦鼓进寨，九缸。第四道，绷鼓，十缸。第五道，杀牛祭鼓，十一缸。第六道，跳鼓，十二缸。第七道，送鼓，十三缸。打祖上起，这都有规定。
他做最后一次祭祖的时候，祭家主人派了二十五个人为他抬米饭和酒菜，那是什么光景！好日子算是完结啦。想当年，就这宰牛前为拨正牛毛的旋窝，先得在场上竖起五花柱子，主人家全得换上新衣新褂，吹起芦里，打起锣鼓。他身穿紫色长袍，头上戴着一顶红绒帽，衣领里再插上大鹏的翎毛，右手摇起铜铃，左手拿着大芭蕉叶做的答子，啊-
牛啊牛啊，
你生在平水，
长在沙滩，
跟妈涉水，
随爸爬山，
同蚂作争祭鼓，
同螳螂抢祭筒，
去三坡打仗，冲杀七冲湾，
你打胜蚂炸，
杀死螳螂'
抢得长商，
夺得大鼓，
拿长简祭妈，
拿大鼓祭爸。
牛呀牛呀，
你背四旋银，
你驼四旋金，
你跟妈去，
你随爸行，
进到黑洞，
去踩鼓门，
你跟妈守山拗，
你跟爸看门问，
不让恶鬼把人害，
不许邪魔进宗房，
让妈千年安静，
让爸百辈温暖。
人这时便将麻绳拴住公牛的鼻子，用蔑圈套住牛角，牵了出来，穿上新衣的主人家向牛再三跪九叩首。在他高声唱颂中祭家的男主人于是手执梭标，追牛刺杀。尔后，这家人亲属中年轻后生们一个个接过梭标，在鼓乐声中，轮番冲刺。牛绕着五花柱喷血狂奔，直到倒地断气，众人割下牛首分肉，牛胸脯尽归他祭师所有。好日子现今彻底完啦！
他如今牙已掉光，只能吃点稀饭。他毕竟过过那好日子，如今却再也没人来伺候。后生意有了钱，也学会嘴上叼根带嘴子的香烟，手里提个吱呀乱叫的电盒子，还带上那鬼样的黑眼镜子，那还再想到祖先？他越唱越觉得凄凉。
他想起忘了摆上香炉，可再进堂屋里去取这石阶上下还得两趟，便把香在柴火上点着，就手插在桌前的沙地上。早先，地上得铺一块六尺长的青布，糯谷把子要放在青布上。
他踩住糯稻把，闭上眼睛，看见了面前一对龙文，年方十六的妙龄，都是寨子里最姣美的小女子，那两双水汪汪的眼睛像河水一样清亮，说的还不是涨水的时候，现今这河一下大雨就变得浑浊不堪，两岸几十里地以内都再也挑不到能祭祖的大树。那起码要十二对不同的树木，一样长，一样粗细，白水得是青杠，红木得是枫树，青杠木剁出的成银，枫树才能剁出金。
走呀！枫树鼓爸，
走呀！青杠树妈，
随枫树去。巴，
眼青杠木走，
到期王所在，
去祖公的处所，
送了鼓就拔楔，
祭师抽刀出鞘哟，
抽刀来剧木，
拔樱来送鼓，哈卡哈哈嗡，
哈卡卡哈嗡，
卡哈卡嗡嗡，
嗡卡哈哈卡，
几十把刀斧彻夜不歇，都得有一定的下数，那五官精巧身材出挑的一对龙女这时候便伸展腰身。
妻子要丈夫，
男人要女人，
房内去生育，
悄悄去造人，
别叫骨根断，
不许种子灭，
生七女灵巧'
生九男英俊。
一对龙女，两双目不转睛。乌亮的眼仁，他全看进心里，重新有了欲念，生出气力，仰天高颂，雄鸡便幄幄叫了起来，雷公在天上打闪，没头没脑的鬼怪在鼓皮上像撒上去的豆粒蹦蹦弹跳不已，啊，高高的银发冠，沉沉的银耳环，炭火上的铜盆里热气蒸腾，净手再洗面，心里好喜欢，天神也高兴，放下了天梯，妈爸才下来，引鼓当当的响，谷仓打开，流出的精米九罐九缸也装不完，灶火熊熊，炭火烘烤，人家才富贵哟，妈祖的灵魂才下来，都膨胀啦，九个木桶蒸蒸冒热气，白花花的米饭哟，大家都来做饭团，起鼓啦，起鼓啦，鼓主前走，祖公随后跟，前前后后紧跟上，鼓师随后来。
去浴富贵水！
去淋发财汤！
富贵水育子，
然花雨生儿，
于判、像芭茅，
后代像鱼葱，
都来鼓主家，
喝九角水酒，
拿饭去祭奠，
拿酒去特地，
请天神来领，
请地鬼来吃，
鼓主才扬斧，
祖宗才拔剑，
超渡老祖辈，
追念亲生母，
来凿一对简，
来造一双鼓…
他高声唱颂，使尽了气力，那苍老的声音像破了的竹筒在风中呜咽。他喉咙干渴，又喝了口水酒，知道这是最后一次了，灵魂随着他飘散的声音已经出窍。
那黑沉沉空荡荡的河滩上哪还有人能听见，幸亏一个老婆婆开门泼脏水，似乎听见人声呜咽，这才见河滩上一堆火光，以为是来打鱼的汉人。汉人如今到处乱窜，只要有钱可赚。她关了房门又一想，汉人苗人这除夕夜里一样要过年，除非穷得没法，莫非是流浪要饭的叫花子？就又盛了一碗吃剩的年饭端出门，一直下到火堆前，才认出了方桌边上的老祭师，便呆呆站住。
她家老头见房门敞开，冷风往里直灌，起身要去关门，才想起他老伴刚才说要给叫花子送碗饭，不见回转就也出来看看，寻到火堆跟前竟也榜住了。然后，先是这家的女儿，再是这家人的儿子，都出来了，也都不知如何是好。还是这后生在乡里小学校念过几年书有点主意，便上前去劝说：
"你老人家这冷天夜里别受风寒，送你回屋去吧。"
老人流着清水鼻涕，并不理会，依然闭目吟唱，沙哑的声音在喉咙里颤抖，含糊不清。
之后，别家的屋门一扇一扇开了，有老妈妈也有老头子，还有跟米的后生小意，一寨子人陆陆续续都仁立到河滩上。有人于是想起回屋里拿了些糯米饭团子，也有提了只鸭子，又有端来碗水酒和剩下的大半碗牛肉，也还有人拎来了半片猪脑壳，都搁到他跟前。
"忘了祖先可是罪过…"老人哺哺呐呐。
有个水妹子一时感动了，跑回屋里抱来一床准备陪嫁的人造混纺毛毯，披在老人身上，用花手帕子给他擦了擦鼻涕，说：
"老伯伯，回屋里去吧卜'
后生们也都说："几可怜的老人呀！"
枫树的妈，青杠木的爸，忘了祖公，会报应的呀！老人的声音只能在喉咙里滚动，涕泪俱下。
"老伯伯，决不要说了。"
"快回屋里去吧。"
后生们上前去扶他。
"我就死在这里-"老人挣扎，终于喊出声来，像个任性的孩子。
有一个老妈妈说：
"由他唱吧，他过不了这个春天了。"我手头上摆着这本《祭鼓词》，是我结识的一位苗族朋友记录翻译成汉文的，我写下这一则故事也算是对他的答谢。
