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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六十九
睡梦里被隐约的一片紧迫的钟鼓声惊醒,我一时不清楚身在何处。四下漆黑,渐渐才认出一方窗户,窗榻的小方格似有若无。我需要弄清楚是否尚在梦中,努力去睁沉重的眼皮,才辨清手表上的萤光,凌晨三时整,即刻意识到是早祷开始了,这才想起我寄宿在寺庙里,连忙翻身爬起。
推开房门,到了庭院,鼓声已止住,钟依然一声一声更加分明。树影下天空灰暗,钟声来自高墙后面大雄宝殿那边。我摸到回廊里通往斋堂的门,从外面插上了。我转向回廊的另一端,上下摸索,都是砖墙,竟像个囚徒,被关在高墙隔离的这庭院里,叫唤了几声,无人答应。
白天我再三要求在这国清寺留宿,接受香客布施的和尚打量我,总怀疑我的虔诚。我执意赖着不走,一直等到庙门关闭,最后他们总算请示了住持老和尚,才把我单独安置在寺庙后面的这侧院里。
我不甘禁闭,一心要见识一下这千年来香火未断的大庙是否还保留天台宗的仪轨,想必不至于触犯寺庙的清规,重又摸索到庭院,居然发现角落里有一丝微弱的光线,透过一条缝隙漏了出来,用手触摸,是一扇小门,运自开了。可见毕竞是佛门,倒无禁地。
绕过门后的壁障,里面一个不大的经堂点着几支蜡烛,香烟袅袅,香案前垂挂下一块紫红锦缎,锈着"香炉乍热"
四个大字,令我心头一动,似乎是一种启示。为表明我心地光明,并非来窥探佛地的隐秘,干脆拿起烛台。四壁挂了许多古老的字画,我没想到寺庙里还有这样雅静的内室,可能是大法师起居的地方,私自闯入,不免有点内疚,顾不得细看是否还保留寒山拾得两位唐代名僧的手迹,又放下烛台,循着早祷的钟声,从经堂的正门出去。
又一进庭院,四厢烛影幢幢,大概都是僧房,冷不防一个披黑袈裟的和尚从我身后越过,我吃了一惊,然后便明白他或许为我引路,尾随他接连穿过好几道回廊。转眼间,人又不见了,我有些纳闷,只好寻有烛光的地方去。刚要跨进门槛,抬头一看,一尊四、五米高的护法金刚,举着降魔柠,怒目睁睁向我打来,吓得我出了一身冷汗。
我赶紧逃开,在漆黑的走廊里摸索前去,见有点微光,走近是一个圆门,过了门洞,谁知正是大雄宝殿下那广大的庭院。大殿飞檐两翼,一边一条苍龙,守护当中的一轮明镜,在参天古柏间透出的黎明前兰森森的夜空,显得格外奇幻。
高台阶上,铁铸的大香炉后面,殿堂里烛光辉煌,宏大的钟声轰然涌出。披着灰黑袈裟的和尚推着一根当空吊起的大木柱,正撞击这口巨钟,它却纹丝不动,仿佛只出于感应,从钟口下的地面钟声缓缓升腾到梁柱之间,在殿堂里充盈了再回旋着涌向门外,将我全身心席卷进声浪之中。
几个和尚逐个点燃两侧十八罗汉前的红烛,整把整把烧着的信香分别插到各个香炉里。僧人们纷纷潜入殿内,全一色灰黑的袈裟,幽幽身影缓缓游移到一个个蒲团前,每个蒲团绣的莲花各不相同。
随后,又听见嘭嘭两击鼓声,厚沉得令五脏六腑跟着震荡。这鼓在殿堂左边,立在一人多高的鼓架上,鼓面的直径比站在梯架的平台上击鼓的和尚还高出一头。唯独这鼓手没穿袈裟,一身短打扮,扎住裤腿,蹬着一双麻鞋,他举手过头。
嗒嗒
嘭!嘭!又是两下。
哎唁
最后一响钟声刚飘逸消散,鼓声便大作,脚底的地面跟着颤抖。开始时还能辨别一声声震荡发自鼓心,节奏随即越来越快,重重迭迭,轰然一片,人心跟着搏动,血也沸腾。浑然一片的鼓声毫不减缓,简直不容人喘息,接着响起一种音调稍高稍许分明的节奏,浮起在鼓心皮实而持久的震荡声之上,另一种更为急促的鼓点又点缀其间,之后,在或高或低不同声部上,出现不断变化的鼓点,同震耳欲聋的轰鸣和那急速的间奏又交错,又对比,竟统统来自这一面大鼓!
击鼓的是一位精瘦的中年僧人,手中并没有鼓锤,只见他赤裸的两臂间光亮的后脑勺晃动不已,拍、击、敲、打。指、点、踢,手掌、手指、拳头、肘、腕和膝盖乃至于脚趾,全都用上,整个身躯像贴在鼓皮上的一条壁虎,着魔了似的扑在鼓面上弹跳,从鼓心到镶满铁钉的鼓边,没有不被他敲击的地方。
这持续不断的紧张的轰鸣交响中,突然铮铮然一声铃声,轻微得让人差一点以为是错觉,像寒风中一根游丝,或是深秋夜里颤禁禁一声虫吟,那么飘忽,那么纤细,那么可怜,在这混饨的轰响之上毕竟分明,明亮得又不容置疑。随后便勾引起大大小小六七个不同音色的木鱼,或沉闷,或空寂,或清脆,或嘹亮,再带动浑厚和鸣的铜馨,一一连串,都交织融合到这片鼓乐声中。
我找寻这铃声的来源,发现是一位极老的高僧,空晃晃撑在一件破了一补再补的袈裟里,左手持一只酒盅般的小铃,右手捻一根细钢笠,只见他钢笠在铜铃上一点,游丝样的铃声同烟香一起冉冉飘逸,又犹如渔网的拉线,网罗起一片音响的世界,让人不由得沉浸其中,我最初的惊异和兴奋于是随之消失。
殿上前后两幅挂匾,分别写着"庄严国士","利乐有情",大殿顶上垂挂下层层帐慢,如来端坐其中,端庄得令人虚荣顿失,又慈祥到淡漠无情,尘世的烦恼刹那间消失殆尽,时间此时此刻也趋于凝聚。
鼓声不知什么时候停息了,长老持铃在前,干瘪的嘴唇嚅嚅嗫嗫,牵动深陷的两颊和灰白的眉毛,众和尚参差不齐,一片诵经声随着铃声的尾音缓缓而起,一,二,三,四,五,六,七,八,九,十…一共九十九名僧人,跟在他身后鱼贯而行,环绕大殿中央的如来,一面游动,一面唱诵。我于是也加入这行列,混同他们合掌念唱南天阿弥陀佛,又听见一个明亮的声音,在经文的每个句子将近完结的当口,声调总要从众多的唱诵声中稍稍扬起,就还有一种未曾混灭的热情,还有一颗仍受煎熬的灵魂。