Gao Xingjian - Soul Mountain

You can’t see why it’s too late.

It’s because she’s a woman.

Women are the same as men.

You make it all sound very nice. She laughs sarcastically.

You see her raise the knife and instantly sit up.

She can’t let you off so lightly, she says she’s going to kill you!

There’s a death penalty for murder, you say, moving away and watching her anxiously.

My life’s no longer worth living, she says.

You ask if she’s been living for you, you want to placate her.

It’s not worth living for anyone! She points the knife at you.

Put down the knife! You warn her.

Are you afraid of death? She laughs sarcastically again.

Everyone’s afraid of death. You admit you’re afraid of death and try to persuade her to put down the knife.

She’s not afraid, she says, having gone this far, she’s not afraid of anything!

You don’t dare enrage her but must keep an aggressive edge to what you say and not let her see you’re terrified.

There’s no need to go to all this trouble to die, you say, there’s a better way of dying. Old age.

You won’t live that long, she says, the knife in her hand glinting.

You edge away and turn to watch her from the side.

She suddenly starts laughing loudly.

You ask if she’s gone mad.

If she has it’s because you made her, she says.

Made you do what? You say you can no longer live with her, that it’s best to separate. Staying together is voluntary, and so is separating. You try hard to stay calm.

It’s not so simple.

Then let’s go to court.

No.

Then let both parties separate.

She says she can’t let you off so lightly, holds up the knife and comes up to you.

You get out of bed and sit down facing her.

She also gets up, exposing her bare upper body, her drooping breasts. Her eyes are dilated and she’s very agitated.

You can’t stand her hysteria, can’t stand her tantrums. You’ve made up your mind to leave. To avoid provoking her further, you say let’s talk about something else.

Are you trying to get away?

Get away from what?

Get away from death. She mocks you and flourishes the knife, unsteadily, like an inexperienced butcher. Her nipples are shaking.

You say you hate her! Finally, this comes through your clenched teeth.

You’ve hated her for a long time but why didn’t you say so a long time ago? She starts screaming, you’ve wounded her. Her whole body starts shaking.

It wasn’t as bad then, you say you didn’t think she would become so disgusting, you say you thoroughly detest her and blurt out cruel harsh words.

You should have said so earlier, you should have said so earlier, she starts weeping and the blade of the knife turns down.

You say everything about her thoroughly disgusts you! You are determined to wound her to the core.

She throws down the knife, shouting, you should have said earlier, it’s too late, too late for everything, why didn’t you say so earlier? She wails hysterically, pounding the floor with her fists.

You want to comfort her but then all this effort, what you have at last resolved, will have been wasted, everything will start all over again and it will be even harder to get away.

She starts bawling and is rolling naked on the floor with the knife lying next to her.

You bend to take away the knife but she grabs the blade. You try to prise off her fingers but she holds onto it tighter.

You’ll cut your hand! Shouting at her, you twist her arm until she drops it. Red blood drips from her palm. You take her wrist and press hard on the artery. She grabs the knife with her other hand. You slap her across the face, stunning her, and she drops the knife.

She looks dumbly at you and suddenly, like a child, eyes full of despair, begins to weep soundlessly. You can’t help feeling sorry for her and, taking her injured hand, suck away the blood with your lips. At this she locks her arms around you tightly, weeping. You try to break free but her arms lock around you even more tightly, pulling you to her breasts.

What are you doing? You are furious.

She wants you to make love, right away! She says she wants to make love now!

With great difficulty you pull yourself away and say, panting, you’re not an animal!

You are! You are an animal! She screams wildly, her eyes glinting strangely.

You try to comfort her and, at the same time, you beg her not to be like this, beg her to calm down.

She blubbers, crying and saying she loves you. Her outburst is because she loves you, she’s frightened that you’re leaving.

You say you can’t yield to a woman’s will, can’t live under this sort of shadow. She is suffocating you, you can’t be anyone’s slave, you won’t submit to any authority whatever tactics are used. And you refuse to submit to a woman, to be a woman’s slave.

She says she will give you freedom as long as you love her and don’t leave, as long as you stay with her, as long as you satisfy her, as long as you want her. She wraps herself around you, kisses you wildly, wet kisses on your face, your body, and rolls around with you. She has won, you can’t resist and again sink into carnal lust, unable to free yourself.

Walking along a road on the shady side of a mountain, no-one ahead or behind me, I get caught in a downpour. At first it’s light rain and feels good falling on my face, then it gets heavier and heavier and I have to run. My hair and clothes are drenched, and seeing a cave on the slope, I hurry to it. Just inside is a big pile of chopped firewood. The ceiling is quite high and one corner of the cave goes further inside. Light is coming from over there. A stove built of rocks with an iron pot on it stands at the top of a few roughly-hewn steps and light is streaming in through a crack in the rock running at an angle above the stove.

I turn around. Behind me is a roughly nailed together wooden bed with the bedding rolled up. A Daoist priest is sitting there reading a book. I get a surprise but don’t dare disturb him and just look at the grey-white line of rain shivering in the crack. It is raining so heavily that I don’t want to venture back out.

“It’s all right, you can stay awhile.” It is he who speaks first as he puts down his book.

He has shoulder length hair and is wearing a loose grey top and grey trousers. He looks to be around thirty.

“Are you one of the Daoists of this mountain?” I ask.

“Not yet. I chop firewood for the Daoist temple,” he replies.

On his bed, cover up, is a copy of Fiction Monthly .

“Are you also interested in this?” I ask.

“I read it to pass time,” he says frankly. “You’re all wet, dry yourself first.” Saying this he brings a basin of hot water from the pot on the stove and gives me a towel.

I thank him, then stripping to the waist, have a wash and instantly feel much better.

“This is really a good place to shelter!” I say as I sit down on a block of wood opposite. “Do you live in this cave?”

He says he is from the village at the foot of the mountain but that he hates the whole lot of them, his older brother and his wife, the neighbours, and the village cadres.

“They all put money first and only think about profit,” he says, “I no longer have anything to do with them.”

“So you chop firewood for a living?”

“I renounced society almost a year ago but they haven’t formally accepted me yet.”

“Why?”

“The old head Daoist wants to see whether I am sincere, whether my heart is constant.”

“Will he accept you then?”

“Yes.”

This shows he firmly believes he is sincere of heart.

“Don’t you feel bored living in this cave on your own all the time?” I go on to ask, casting a glance at the magazine.