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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四十二
那是一个大晴天,天空没有一丝云,苍穹深远明净得让你诧异。天底下有一座寂寞的寨子,一层层吊脚楼全在悬岩上支撑,远远看去,精巧得像石壁上挂着个蜂巢。那梦境是这样的,你在山崖下转来转去,怎么都找木到去那里的路,你眼看接近它了,谁知又绕了开去,来回盘桓了许久,最后只好放弃,随便循一条山路信步走去,直到它终于消失在山崖背后,你不免有些惋惜。你也不知道脚下的这条路通往何处,况且你本来就无什目的。
你退自朝前走,山道回环。你这一生原本就没有个固定的目标。你所定的那些目标,时过境迁,总也变来变去,到头来并没有宗旨。细想,人生其实无所谓终极的目的,都像这蜂巢,弃之令人可惜,真要摘到了,又得遭蜂子一顿乱咬,不如由它挂着,观赏一番,也就完了。想到这里,脚下竞轻快得多,走到哪里算哪里,只要有风景可瞧。
两边都是杨梅林子,可又不是搞梅子的季节,等结的梅子成熟,你还不知身在何处。梅子等人?还是人等梅子?是一个玄学的题目。这题目有许多做法,而且尽可以无穷无尽做下去,梅子照旧是梅子,人也依然故我。或者说,今年的梅子并非明年的梅子,人也今是而昨非。问题是如今果真是?或许不是?这判断的标准又从何而立?让玄学家去谈玄,你只管走你的路。
你一味爬坡,在山道上走得浑身冒汗,却突然来到这寨子脚下,望着寨子里的阴影心里也生出一片荫凉。
你全然没有料到,这一幢幢木楼一根根脚柱下,长长的石级竟坐满了人,你只得走在他们盘坐的腿脚空隙中间。没人看你,全低着头,轻声啼哺呐呐,背诵经文,看来都很忧伤。前去的石级随着巷子拐弯,两边的木楼七歪八斜,相互支撑住一幢也倒不了,除非等到哪一天地震或是山崩,要塌得全塌。
这些坐着的老人一个挨一个,也是这样,只要推倒其中一个,就会像小孩码着玩的骨牌,一倒全倒。你没敢去推,怕会是一场灾难。
你小心翼翼,下脚在他们盘坐的精瘦的脚踝之间。他们都穿的布缝的袜子,裹住鸡爪一样的脚掌,木楼在他们的呻吟之中也发出格吱格吱的响声,叫你弄木清响的是木楼还是他们的骨节。他们还都患有老年痉挛的毛病,摇摆身躯叨念的时候,头也总颤个不停。
这巷子弯弯曲曲,没有尽头,连两边的石阶上也坐得满满的,全穿的青灰色订了补丁的衣裳,那是一种陈年上布,一洗就瓤。危楼的栏杆上垂挂下一条条晾起的被单和粗夏市做的许多蚊帐,沉浸在悲哀中的这些老人便显得越发庄严。
他们喃呐声中有一个尖锐的声音,像猫爪子一样刺痛了你,还抓住你不放,吸引你不断前去。你无法确定这声音来自何处,见一家人门前吊着几串黄的纸钱,烟香从挂着帘子的门洞里飘逸出来,一定是什么人死了。
你越往前去越加困难,人一个紧挨一个,越来越密集,简直无从下脚,生怕踩到哪根踝骨上,准造成骨折。你不得不更加小心,从盘根错节老树根样交错的腿脚之间,捡那么点能跪下脚尖的空隙,屏住气息,一步一步倒腾。
你走在他们之中,没有一个人哪怕抬一下头。他们不是缠的包头,便盖的布帕子,你也看不见他们的脸面。这时候他们齐声唱了起来,你仔细听,渐渐才听个明白。
你们都来哟,
一天跑六回,
一回跑六次,
阴间里撒下米,
有事要你们来担起。
那领唱的尖声就来自你身边石门坎上坐着的一位老太婆。她稍许有些特别,肩上搭着块黑布,把头整个蒙住,一只手哆哆喷喷直抖,拍打膝头,身体悠悠缓缓,随着吟唱前摇后摆。她身边地上放了一碗清水,还有一节装满了米的竹筒和一叠四方的粗糙的草纸,草纸上凿打的一行行小孔。只见她手指在水碗里每沾一下,便掀一张纸钱散向空中。
不知你们几时来,
不知你们几时去,
去大地尽头,
东坡那边,
都坍哎,都坍哟,
杀人不要半领米,救人不要半毫分,
有苦有难都得救哟,
请你们都来齐!
你想绕过她,又怕碰到她肩膀,这身躯一推就倒,只好拨开她的脚踝,她却突然尖声大叫:
都丹哟,都丹依,
筷子细的脚,
头有鸭笼粗,
他来才快当,
他讲才算数,
请他快快来,
叫他莫耽误!
她一边尖叫,一边居然缓缓站起,朝你舞动手臂,一双鸡爪样的手指伸向你,直在你眼前唬弄,你不知哪来的勇气,挡开她手臂,撩起她黑布盖头,里面竟是个干瘪的小脸,双没有目光的眼窝,深深陷进之,嘴皮子张开却只露出一颗牙,似笑非笑,叫着还又跳。
五花红蛇到处游,
老虎豹子都出动,
山门呼呼在打开,
都从那石门来,
四面八方都喊全,一个一个都叫齐,
快快去救那落难的人!你企图摆脱她的纠缠,可他们都缓缓站了起来,一个个干柴样的老人团团把你围住,一片颤抖的声音跟着叫喊:
都丹依,都丹哟,
快快开门请四方,
寅时请卯时到,
请到雷公电母,
得马共骑,
得钱共用!众人一起扑向你,冲你吼叫,声音又都憋在喉管里。你只得推开他们,一个一个嗡然倒地,纸做的那样轻飘,无声无息,周围便一片死寂。你顿时也就明白,那门洞布帘子背后,铺板上躺着的那人正是你自己。你不肯就这样死去,翻然要回归人世。