《灵山》节选（英文版）
《高行健文集》作者：高行健文集 2017-01-10 13:20
作者：高行健
（一）
Soul Mountain 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 common 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
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（一）
Soul Mountain 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 common 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