Gao Xingjian - Soul Mountain

“Fuck you, think you can get someone to stop like that? Don’t you want to go on living?” The driver pokes his head out of the window to swear at me. He is a Han Chinese and I can communicate with him.

I quickly run up to the cabin door to explain. “Driver, I’m a reporter from Beijing doing interviews in the Miao stockade. I’m on an urgent job and have to get back to the county town to send a telegram!”

He has a wide face, a square jaw and a big mouth. This sort of person is usually easy to get on with. He looks me over and frowns. “The truck’s got a load of pigs and doesn’t take people. And my truck isn’t going to the county town.”

I can hear the squealing of pigs coming from under the canopy.

“As long as it’s not to the abattoirs, anywhere will do.” I put on a smile.

He looks reluctant but finally opens the door. I hasten to thank him and jump into the cabin.

I offer him a cigarette but he declines. We travel some distance without a word. Safely seated, I don’t need to explain any further. However from time to time he glances at the camera hanging from my neck. For the locals around here Beijing means the central government and reporters sent by the central government authorities have a certain style. But I have neither a county interpreter nor a special jeep to take me around. Nothing I can say will allay his suspicions.

I suppose he thinks I’m a fraud. I’ve heard about pranksters going into the mountains with empty cameras and putting on a big act. They say their rates are cheap and go from place to place mobilizing families to have their photos taken, then after a bit of free fun in the mountains, the money they trick out of the locals is just perfect for a night out in a city restaurant. Maybe he thinks I’m in this racket. I start laughing to myself, I have to find something to amuse myself otherwise this long trip will really be boring.

He suddenly looks at me and asks with undisguised coldness, “Where in fact are you going?”

“Back to the county town!”

“Which county town?”

When I came in the Miao king’s car I wasn’t paying attention and can’t come up with an answer. “Anyway, I’ll have to go to the nearest county committee reception office!” I say.

“Then get out of the truck.” A fork in the road appears up ahead, it is just as desolate and there are no houses in sight. I can’t work out if he’s trying to frighten me or trying to be funny.

The truck slows down and stops. “I’m turning off here,” he adds.

“Where are you taking the truck?”

“The pig buying company.” He leans across and opens the door inviting me to get out.

I see that he is not joking and it is inadvisable for me to stay sitting there. As I get out I ask, “Are we already out of Miao territory?”

“We left long ago. It’s only ten li into town, you’ll make it there before dark,” he says coldly.

The door bangs shut and the truck goes onto the side road and, in a cloud of dust, disappears into the distance.

If I were a woman on her own this driver wouldn’t have been so cold. I know women have been kidnapped and raped by drivers on mountain roads such as these, but then, women wouldn’t lightly get in one of these long-distance freight trucks. People are always on guard against one another.

The sun has gone behind the mountain and only a stretch of dusky sky with clouds like fish scales, remains. Up ahead is a long dirt slope. My calves ache, sweat is pouring down my back and I’ve given up hope that a vehicle will come along. I resign myself to going up to the top of the ridge for a bit of a rest and to prepare myself for walking all night.

I didn’t expect to encounter someone like myself on top of the ridge. He arrives about the same time as me. His hair is like a tangle of weeds and he hasn’t had a shave for days. He also has a bag, the only difference is that I’ve got mine hanging on my shoulders and he is clumsily carrying his in his hands. He is wearing dusty work trousers, the sort coal miners or cement factory workers wear. As for me, I have been wearing these jeans since I set out on this trip and they haven’t been washed for several months.

The moment our eyes meet, I sense he is a bad person. He looks me over from head to toe, then his eyes immediately return to my backpack. It is like running into a wolf, the difference being that for a wolf the other party is food to be hunted, whereas for people it is the other party’s money. Instinctively, I too can’t help looking him over. I cast my eyes over the bag he is carrying, does it contain some dangerous weapon? If I walk past him, will he attack me from behind? I stop in my tracks.

This bag of mine isn’t light, especially with the camera in it, but it’s heavy enough to swing at him. I take the bag off my shoulders, hold it in my hand, and sit down on the dirt slope by the road. I take a deep breath and get ready to deal with him. He also takes a deep breath and sits on a rock on the other side. The two of us are not more than ten paces apart.

He is clearly more powerful than me and if there’s a real fight I’ll be no match. However I remember the electrician’s knife which I always take travelling, it is handy and can also serve as a weapon to defend myself. I don’t think he’ll be able to produce a decisive weapon and if he pulls out a small knife he won’t necessarily come out the winner. If I can’t beat him I can turn and run, but this will only encourage him and indicate that I do in fact have money on me. From his eyes I can tell there’s no-one behind me, that no vehicles are approaching and that it’s as desolate as behind him. I must signal that I am on the alert, that I am on guard, and at the same time that I am not panicking.

I light a cigarette and pretend to be resting. He also takes out a cigarette from the back pocket of his trousers and lights it. Neither of us looks directly at the other but we each watch from the corners of our eyes.

Unless he is sure I have something valuable on me he won’t risk his life, but still a fight is inevitable. The old cassette player in my bag is like a brick and the sound is distorted, if I had the money I would have got rid of it long ago. Only my imported Japanese camera is in good working condition but it’s not worth risking one’s life for. I only have a hundred yuan in cash and it certainly isn’t worth getting hurt for such a small amount of money. I look at my dusty shoes and blow smoke at them. Sitting still, I feel my cold sweat-soaked singlet sticking to my back and hear the howling of the mountain wind.

He sneers contemptuously, revealing his front teeth. I think that I also have a contemptuous look and probably some of my teeth are showing, and my face is undoubtedly as mean as his. If I open my mouth I can also spew out a barrage of foul language. I can go on the attack and I can stab a person with a knife, and at the same time I am ready to flee for my life. That look of insolence as he holds his cigarette in his fingers, is it because of a similar line of thinking? Is he also protecting himself?

These shoes which I bought for this long trip have been in rain and mud and fully immersed in rivers. They are out of shape, black and dirty, and no-one could imagine that once they had been offered at a high price as fashionable travel shoes. There is nothing about me to make me the target of robbery. I drag hard on what’s left of my cigarette, toss down the butt and tread on it. He also flicks his cigarette butt onto the ground, as if in response, of course contemptuously, but at the same time guarded.

After that both of us get up. Neither makes way for the other and both walk in the middle of the road, brushing past one another. People, in the final analysis, aren’t wolves but more like feral dogs. They sniff, look one another over, and then walk away.