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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四十三
从苗寨出来之后,这荒凉的山路上我从早一直走到下午。偶尔路过的不管是长途客车还是带拖斗运毛竹木材的车队,我一再挥手招呼,没有一辆肯停下来。
太阳已经挂到对面的山梁上,山谷里阴风四起,蜿蜒的公路上前后不见村寨,也断了行人,越走越见凄凉。我不知前去县城还有多远,天黑前能不能赶到,要再截不到车,连过夜的地方也难找。我想起背包里有照相机,不妨冒充一下记者,或许有效。
终于又听见背后来车,我索性拦在公路当中,举起相机摇晃。一辆有顶篷的卡车一路颠簸,直冲过来并不减速,眼看快到身边这车才嘎然煞住。
"有你他妈的这样拦车的?不要命啦!"司机从车窗探出头来叫骂。
倒是个汉人,说得通话。
"这位师傅,我是从北京来苗寨采访的记者,有紧急任务,天黑前要赶回县城去发电报!"我赶紧跑到车门前解释。
他阔脸方腮大嘴,这种人通常比较好讲话。他居高临下打量我,皱拢眉头说:"这车拉的生猪,不带人的。我这车也不去县城。"车帮子里还真听见猪们的哄闹声。"只要不去屠宰场,哪里都行。"我望着他,做出一付笑脸。
他一脸不情愿,可总算开了车门。我连忙道谢,跳进车里。
我请他抽烟,他拒绝了。走了一程,一路无话,既然坐稳了我也毋须再多作说明。他只时不时瞟一眼我胸着故意挂着的照相机,我当然知道北京在此地人眼里即所谓中央,而中央下来的记者该有什么派头,可我一无县里干部的陪同,二无专门派出的吉普车接送,再怎样解说,也消除不了他的疑虑。
我想他大概以为我是骗子。我听说还真有那种恶作剧的主,拿个相机,里面不装胶卷,装模作样,到山里找农民挨家挨户拍照,说是收费低廉,进山白玩了一趟,骗来的钱到城里正好再下饭馆。他莫不是以为我也是这一路的,不觉暗自好笑。人总得自己给自己找点乐趣,要不这长途跋涉实在辛苦。他突然瞅我一眼,冷不防问:
"你到底去哪里?
"回县城去呀!
"哪个县城?
我跟苗王的车子来时并未留意,一时倒真答不上来。
"总归去就近的县委招待所!"我说。
"就这里下车吧。"
前面出现个岔路口,一样荒凉,没有人家。我弄不清他是不是在唬弄我,还是他也有他的幽默。
车减速了,停了下来。
"我这车要拐弯了,"他又说了一句。
"这车去哪里?"
"生猪收购公司。"他歪身开了车门,算是请我下车。
这自然不只是幽默,我也不便再坐下去,只得跳下车来,出于无奈又问了一句:
"已经出了苗家山区?"
"早就过了,离城只有十多公里,天黑前你走得到的。"他冷冷说道。
车门呼的关上,车子上了岔道,扬起尘土,远去了。
我想如果是一位单身女人,这司机未必会这样冷淡。我又知道这种山路上也有被司机拐骗上当的妇女,而单身女人又不会轻易乘搭这种跑长途的货车。人与人之间总在提防。
太阳落到山后去了,天空剩下一片鱼鳞般的晚霞,前面是一条灰白的长长的上坡。腿肚子发酸,脊背在冒汗,我不再指望来车,只想爬到岭上坐下歇一会,准备走夜路就是了。
我绝没有想到这山岭上居然迎面碰人一个同我一样的人,和我差不多同时到达。他头发茅草样滋着,小胡子也多日未剃,也带个包,只不过我的背在肩上,他却吊而郎当拎在手里。他穿的件劳动布裤子,是煤矿或水泥厂干活穿的那种工作服,灰朴朴的,而我穿的这条牛仔裤,自出门上路也好几个月未曾洗过。
我同他一对上目光便觉得来者不善。他从头到脚打量我一番,目光随即又转回我的背包,这就如同和狼相遇,和狼不同的只在于狼是把对方作为猎取的食物,而人重视的是对方的钱财。我出于本能,也不免上下打量他,还瞟了一眼他手上提的包,里面是不是有凶器?我如果直走过去,他会不会从背后袭击?我站住了。
我这包不算轻,特别是那架照相机,抡起来有足够的分量。我把包从肩上褪下,也拎在手里,在路边的土坡上坐下。我刚上坡,借此喘息一下,好准备应付他。他也喘气,坐到路那边的一块石头上,两人相距不到十步。
他显然比我壮实,真打我不是他对手。可我想起包里还有把电工刀,我上路总带着,很实用又可作为防身的武器。他看来拿不出什么大家伙,动短刀子的话未必就占上风。打他不过,我当然还可以转身就跑,但这只能引诱他,表明我身上确有钱财,也显露我怯弱,只能鼓励地抢劫。况且,从他的目光中我明白我身后既没有人,也没有车来,就像我看见他身后同样荒凉一样。我必须表明我警惕他,已经有所防备,又还要显出我并不在乎。
我点上一支烟,做出在休息的样子。他从屁股后面的裤袋里也摸出一根香烟,点着了。谁都不看着谁,可彼此眼角的余光都在相互扫射。
他没有弄清楚我身上有什么值钱的东西之前,不会拼命的,这总免不了一番格斗。我包里那块砖式的声音失真的录音机已经老旧,有钱的话早该淘汰,只有这架进口的日本相机,功能还算齐全,可也值不得为此拼命。口袋里还有一百多元现款,更不必为这点钱流血。我望着灰朴朴的鞋子,往鞋上吐着烟。一旦坐定,汗湿了的背心贴在脊背上冰凉,随后又听见了呜呜的山风。
他嘴角挂着一丝鄙夷,露出门牙。我想我可能同样垮着嘴角,也正是一种鄙视的表情,大概也露出了牙,肯定同他一样都一付泼皮的嘴脸,张口也会喷出一嘴骂人的脏话,也会犯狂,也会拿刀子涌人,又随时准备逃命。他用两只手指捏住烟屁股那付无赖相,是不是出于同一种心理?也在防卫自己?
我为这趟远游买的这双鞋,雨里泥里,也淌过河水,早已变形,又黑又脏,谁也认不出它曾经高价标榜为最时新的旅游产品,我一身上下没有一处看得出来是一个可抢的对象。我把剩下的烟猛吸一口,扔下烟头,一脚踏灭了。他也把烟屁股用手指弹在地上,像是对我的回答,当然也是一种轻蔑,可也还是防御性的。
之后,就都起身了,谁也不回避谁,都走在路中间,擦肩而过。人究竟还不是狼,更像两头野狗,嗅了嗅,彼此彼此,就都走开了。那一头又是长长的下坡。我撒腿走下去,收不住脚步,一气到了平路上。回头再望,背后爬在荒凉的山岭上这条灰朴朴的公路,昏暗的天空之下显得更加寂寞。