灵山---英文版-第1章
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Soul Mountain
作者：Gao Xingjian
Gao Xingjian
Translation by Mabel Lee
Chapter One
The old bus is a city reject。 After shaking in it for twelve hours on the potholed highway since early morning you arrive in this mountain county town in the South。
In the bus station littered with ice…lollipop papers and sugar cane scraps； you stand with your backpack and a bag and look around for a while。
People are getting off the bus or walking past； men humping sacks and women carrying babies。 A crowd of youths； unhampered by sacks or baskets； have their hands free。 They take sunflower seeds out of their pockets； toss them one at a time into their mouths and spit out the shells。 With a loud crack the kernels are expertly eaten。 To be leisurely and carefree is endemic to the place。 They are locals and life has made them like this； they have been here for many generations and you wouldn’t need to go looking anywhere else for them。 The earliest to leave the place； of course at the time this bus station didn’t exist and probably there weren’t any buses； travelled by river in the black canopy boats and overland in hired carts or by foot if they didn’t have the money。 Nowadays； as long as they are still able to travel they flock back home； even from the other side of the Pacific； arriving in cars or big air…conditioned coaches。 The rich； the famous； and the nothing in particular all hurry back because they are getting old。 After all； who doesn’t love the home of their ancestors？ Of course they don’t intend to stay so they walk around looking relaxed； talking and laughing loudly； and effusing fondness and affection for the place。 Here； when friends meet they don’t just give a nod or a handshake in the meaningless ritual of city people； they shout the person’s name or thump him on the back。 Hugging is also mon but not for women； who don’t do this。 By the cement trough where the buses are washed； two young women hold hands as they chat。 The women here have lovely voices and you can’t help taking a second look。 The one with her back to you is wearing an indigo…print head scarf。 This type of scarf； and how it’s tied； dates back many generations but is seldom seen nowadays。 You find yourself walking towards them。 The scarf is tied under her chin and the two ends point up。 She has a beautiful face。 Her features are delicate； so is her slim body。 You pass close by them。 They have been holding hands all this time； both have red coarse hands and strong fingers。 Both are probably recent brides back seeing relatives and friends； or visiting parents。 Here； the word xifu means one’s own daughter…in…law and using it like rustic Northerners to refer to any young married woman will immediately incur angry abuse。 On the other hand； a married woman calls her own husband laogong yet your laogong； and my laogong are also used。 People here speak with a unique intonation even though they are descendants of the same legendary emperors and are of the same culture and race。
You yourself can’t explain why you’re here。 It happened that you were on a train and this person mentioned a place called Lingshan。 He was sitting opposite and your cup was next to his。 As the train moved； the lids on the cups clattered against one another。 If the lids kept on clattering or clattered and then stopped； that would have been the end of it。 However； whenever you and he were about to separate the cups； the clattering would stop； and as soon as you and he looked away the clattering would start again。 He and you reached out； but again the clattering stopped。 The two of you laughed at the same instant； put the cups well apart； and started a conversation。 You ask him where he is going。
〃Lingshan。〃
〃What？〃
〃Lingshan； ling meaning spirit or soul； and shan meaning mountain。〃
You’ve been to lots of places； visited lots of famous mountains； but have never heard of this place。
Your friend opposite has closed his eyes and is dozing。 Like anyone else； you can’t help being curious and naturally want to know which famous places you’ve missed on your travels。 Also； you like doing things properly and it’s annoying that there’s a place you haven’t even heard about。 You ask him about the location of Lingshan。
〃At the source of the You River；〃 he says opening his eyes。
You don’t know this You River； either； but are embarrassed about asking and give an ambiguous nod which can mean either 〃I see； thanks〃 or 〃Oh； I know the place。〃 This satisfies your desire for superiority but not your curiosity。 After a while you ask how to get there and the route up the mountain。
〃Take the train to Wuyizhen； then go upstream by boat on the You River。〃
〃What’s there？ Scenery？ Temples？ Historic sites？〃 you ask； trying to be casual。
〃It’s all virgin wilderness。〃
〃Ancient forests？〃
〃Of course； but not just ancient forests。〃
〃What about Wild Men？〃 you say； joking。
He laughs but without any sarcasm； and he doesn’t seem to be making fun of himself which intrigues you even more。 You have to find out more about him。
〃Are you an ecologist？ A biologist？ An anthropologist？ An archaeologist？〃
He shakes his head each time then says； 〃I’m more interested in living people。〃
〃So you’re doing research on folk customs？ You’re a sociologist？ An ethnographer？ An ethnologist？ A journalist； perhaps？ An adventurer？〃
〃I’m an amateur in all of these。〃
The two of you start laughing。
〃I’m an expert amateur in all of these！〃
The laughing makes you and him cheerful。 He lights a cigarette and can’t stop as he tells you about the wonders of Lingshan。 Afterwards； at your request； he tears up his empty cigarette box and draws a map of the route up Lingshan。
In the North； it is already late autumn。 Here； however； the summer heat hasn’t pletely subsided。 Before sunset； it is still quite hot in the sun and sweat starts running down your back。 You leave the station to look around。 There’s nothing nearby except for the little inn across the road。 It’s an old style building with a wooden shopfront and an upstairs。 Upstairs the floorboards creak badly but worse still is the grime on the pillow and sleeping mat。 To wash； you’d have to wait till it was dark to strip off and pour water over yourself in the damp narrow courtyard。 This is a stopover for the village peddlers and craftsmen。
It’s well before dark； so there’s plenty of time to find somewhere clean。 You walk down the road with your backpack to look over the little town； hoping to find some indication； a billboard or a poster； or just the name 〃Lingshan〃 to tell you you’re on the right track and haven’t been tricked into making this long excursion。 You look everywhere but don’t find anything。 There were no tourists like you amongst the other passengers who got off the bus。 Of course you’re not that sort of tourist； it’s just what you’re wearing： strong sensible sports shoes and a backpack with shoulder straps； no…one else is dressed like you。 Of course； this isn’t one of the tourist spots frequented by newlyweds and retirees。 Those places have been transformed by tourism； coaches are parked everywhere and tourist maps are on sale。 Tourist hats； tourist T…shirts； tourist singlets and tourist handkerchiefs bearing the name of the place are in all the little shops and stalls； and the name of the place is used in the trade names of all the 〃foreign exchange currency only〃 hotels for foreigners； the 〃locals with references only〃 hostels and sanatoriums； and of course the small private hotels peting for customers。 You haven’t e to enjoy yourself in one of those places on the sunny side of a mountain where people congregate just to look at and jostle one another； and to add to the litter of melon rind； fruit peel； soft drink bottles； cans； cartons； sandwich wrappings and cigarette butts。 Sooner or later this place will also boom but you’re here before they put up the gaudy pavilions and terraces； before the reporters e with their cameras； and before the celebrities e to put up plaques with their calligraphy。 You can’t help feeling rather pleased with yourself yet you’re anxious。 There’s no sign of anything here for tourists； have you made a blunder？ You’re only going by the map on the cigarette box in your shirt pocket； what if the expert amateur you met on the train had only heard about the place on his travels？ How do you know he wasn’t just making it all up？ You haven’t ever seen the place mentioned in travel accounts and it’s not listed in the most up to date travel manuals。 Of course； it isn’t hard to find places like Lingtai； Lingqiu； Lingyan and even Lingshan on provincial maps and you know very well that in the histories and classics； Lingshan appears in works dating back to the ancient shamanistic work Classic of the Mountains and Seas； and the old geographical gazetteer Annotated Water Classic。 It was also at Lingshan that Buddha enlightened the Venerable Mahakashyapa。 You’re not stupid； so just use your brains； first find this place Wuyizhen on the cigarette box； for this is how you’ll get to Lingshan。
You return to the bus station and go into the waiting room。 The busiest place in this small town is now deserted。 The ticket window and the parcel window are boarded up from the inside so knocking is useless。 There’s nowhere to ask so you can only go through the lists of stops above the ticket window： Zhang Village； Sandy Flat； Cement Factory； Old Hut； Golden Horse； Good Harvest； Flood Waters； Dragon Bay； Peach Blossom Hollow … the names keep getting better； but the place you want isn’t there。 This is just a small town but there are several routes and quite a few buses go through。 The busiest route； with five or six buses a day； is to Cement Factory but that’s definitely not a tourist route。 The route with the fewest buses； one a day； is sure to go to the furthest destination： it turns out that Wuyizhen is the last stop。 There’s nothing special about the name； it’s just like any other place name and there’s nothing magical about it。 Still； you seem to have found one end of a hopeless tangle； you may not be ecstatic but you’re certainly relieved。 You’ll need to buy a ticket in the morning an hour before departure and you know from experience that with mountain buses like this； which run once a day； just to get on will be a fight。 Unless you’re prepared to do battle； you’ll just have to get into the queue early。
But； right now； you’ve got lots of time； although your backpack’s a nuisance。 As you amble along the road timber trucks go by noisily sounding their horns。 In the town the noise is worse still as trucks； some with trailers； blast on their horns and conductors hang out of windows loudly banging the sides of the buses to get pedestrians off the road。
The old buildings on both sides stand flush with the road and all have wooden shopfronts。 The downstairs is for business and upstairs； washing hung out to dry—nappies； bras； underpants with patched crotches； floral…print bedspreads—like flags of all the nations； flap in the noise and dust of the traffic。 The concrete telegraph poles along the street are pasted at eye level with all sorts of poster
