by Gao Xingjian
I meet a young Daoist nun with delicate fair skin and a beautiful face. The graceful person beneath the loose Daoist robe exudes dignity and freshness. She installs me in the guest room in the temple hall in the side courtyard off the main hall. The unvarnished floorboards which clearly show the grain and colour of the timber are spotlessly clean and the bedding smells as if it has just been washed and starched. I am staying in the Palace of Supreme Purity.
Each morning the nun brings hot water in a washbasin for me to wash my face, then makes tea and stays to chat for a while. Her voice rings with a clear purity like the first picking of the green tea that I am drinking and she talks and laughs in an open manner. She says she finished high school and voluntarily took the examinations to become a Daoist nun, but I don’t ask why she made this decision.
They enlisted ten other young men and women along with her and all have at least primary school education. The head Daoist is a master. He is over eighty but has a clear voice and walks with a spritely stride. He doesn’t shirk hard work and it was only after spending several years liaising with the local government and various levels of the establishment, then convening a meeting with the few old Daoists on the mountain, that he was able to re-establish the Palace of Supreme Purity on Qingcheng Mountain. Both the old and the young chat freely with me and, to use her words, everyone likes you. She says everyone, but doesn’t say she herself.
She says you can stay as long as you like, Zhang Daqian the painter lived here for many years. I saw a portrait of Zhang Daqian’s father engraved on stone in the temple of the three legendary rulers – Fuxi, Shennong and the Yellow Emperor – situated alongside the Palace of Supreme Purity. Afterwards I also learn that Fan Changsheng of the Jin Dynasty and Du Tingguang of the Tang Dynasty lived here as recluses in order to write. I am not a recluse and still want to eat from the stoves of human society. I can’t say that I am staying because of the charming spontaneity of her movements and her unaffected gracefulness, I am simply saying that I like the tranquillity here.
My room leads out onto the temple hall with its ancient colours and ancient smells. Inside is a long table made of nanmu hardwood and some square chairs with armrests and small low tables. Calligraphy is hanging on the walls and the freizes of the horizontal central tablet and the pillars are early wood carvings which have luckily been preserved. She says you can do some reading and writing here and when you get tired you can go for a stroll in the courtyard at the back of the hall. Ancient cypresses and ink-green indigo plants grow in the square courtyard and the artificial stone mountains in the pond are completely covered in thick green moss. Early in the morning and at night the talk and laughter of the nuns can be heard coming through the carved lattice windows. Here, the oppressive and prohibitive harshness of the Buddhist monasteries doesn’t exist. Instead there is tranquillity and fragrance.
After dusk when the few tourists have all gone, I like the solitude and austerity of the lower courtyard of the Palace of Three Purities. I sit alone on the stone threshold at the centre of the palace gate and look at the big rooster of inlaid ceramic tiles directly in front of me. The four round pillars in the centre of the palace hall are each inscribed with couplets. The outer couplet is:
The Way gives birth to one, one gives birth to two, two gives birth to three, three gives birth to the myriad things
Man follows earth, earth follows heaven, heaven follows the Way, the Way follows Nature
This is the source of what I had heard from the old botanist in the primitive forest. The inner couplet is:
Invisible and inaudible, mystical indeed is its imperceptibility, joining the trinity of jade purity, superior purity and supreme purity
Know its workings, observe its profundity, pure indeed is its tranquillity, forming the principle of the Way of heaven, the Way of earth and the Way of man
The old head Daoist tells me about the two couplets. “The Way is both the source and the law of the myriad things, when there is mutual respect of both subject and object there is oneness. This source gives birth to existence from non-existence, and to non-existence from existence. The union of the two is innate and with the union of heaven and man there is the attainment of unity in one’s view of the cosmos and of human life. For Daoists, purity is the principle, non-action the essence and spontaneity the application; it is a life of truth and a life requiring absence of self. To put it simply, this is the general meaning of Daoism.”
As he is expounding the Way to me, the young disciples, men and women, crowd around to listen and sit all huddled together. One of the young nuns even puts her arm on the shoulders of one of the young men as she listens intently and wholeheartedly. I doubt that I would be able to attain this realm of purity where there is an absence of self and lust.
One evening after dinner the men and women, old and young alike, all come into the lower courtyard to see who can make the porcelain frog in the hall whistle by blowing into it. It is bigger than a dog and some get it to whistle while others don’t. They amuse themselves doing this for quite some time and then disband to do their evening studies. I am left on my own and again sit on the stone threshold, looking at the temple rooftop with its intricate decorations of benevolent dragons, snakes, turtles and fish.
The flying eaves curling upwards are lines of pure simplicity and the majestic forests on the mountain behind soundlessly sway in the night breeze. Suddenly the myriad things turn silent and the sound of pure pipes can be heard, serene and flowing, then abruptly vanishing. Then, beyond the gates of the temple complex, the noisy surging of the river under the stone bridge and the soughing of the night wind all seem to be flowing from my heart.
The next time she comes, her hair is cropped short, and this time you see her clearly.
“Why have you cut your hair?” you ask.
“I’ve cut off the past.”
“Is that possible?”
“It had to be cut off even if it’s impossible. For me it has been cut.”
You laugh.
“What’s funny?” She goes on to say softly, “I still feel some regret, you know, all that wonderful hair.”
“It looks good like this and it’s less trouble. You don’t have to blow it off your face all the time, it’s a nuisance having to blow at it.”
It’s her turn to laugh.
“Stop going on about my hair. How about talking about something else?”
“What shall I talk about?”
“Talk about that key of yours. Didn’t you lose it?”
“I’ve found it. Of course you can put it that way, but if it’s lost it’s lost, if it’s lost why look for it?”
“Once it’s been cut off, it’s been cut off.”
“Are you talking about your hair? I was talking about my key.”
“I was talking about memories. You and I are really a natural couple,” she says pursing her lips.
“But there’s always that little difference.”
“What do you mean ‘that little difference’?”
“I wouldn’t presume to say that you aren’t as good as me, I am saying that we are always just passing by one another.”
“Haven’t I come?”
“You could suddenly just get up and leave.”
“I could also stay and not leave.”
“That of course would be wonderful.” But, you feel awkward.
“You’re all talk but you never do anything.”
“Do what?”
“Make love, I know that’s what you need.”
“Make love?”
“A woman, you need a woman.” She’s quite blunt.
“Then what about you?” You stare into her eyes.
“It’s the same, I need a man.” Her eyes flash provocatively.
“I don’t think one would be enough.” You feel hesitant.
“Then let’s say I need men.” She is more direct than you.
“That’s more like it.” You relax.
“When a man and a woman are t
ogether–”
“The world no longer exists.”
“And there is only lust,” she adds.
“I surrender.” You really mean this. “Then right now a man and a woman are together here–”
“Then let’s do it,” she says. “Draw the curtains.”
“You still want to be in darkness.”
“I can forget myself.”
“Haven’t you forgotten everything, why are you afraid of yourself?”
“You’re such a wimp, you want to but don’t dare. I’ll have to help you.”
She comes up to you and starts stroking your hair. You bury your head in her bosom and say softly, “I’ll draw the curtains.”
“No need.”
She shakes herself, looks down and pulls down the zip of her jeans. You see a vortex in the firm white flesh at the edge of her floral underpants, you put your face to it and kiss her soft belly.
She stays your hand, saying, “Don’t be so impatient.”
“Will you manage by yourself?”
“Yes, won’t it be more exciting?”
She pulls off her sweater and shakes her head from habit even though she doesn’t need to with her short hair. She stands before you in a pool of clothing, exposing a mound of tangled black hairs lustrous like the hair on her head. She has removed everything but the bra enclosing her full breasts. She puts her arms behind her and frowning says resentfully, “Why can’t you do even this?”
She has you in a state of shock and you don’t immediately catch on.
“How about being a bit helpful!”
You get up right away, go behind her and undo it for her.
“Okay, now it’s your turn,” she says heaving a sigh of relief as she goes and sits in the chair facing you. Her eyes are riveted on you and there is a hint of derision on her lips.
“You’re a demon!” You angrily throw down the clothes you take off.
“I am a goddess,” she corrects you.
Stark naked she is majestic and unmoving as she waits for you to approach. Afterwards she closes her eyes, lets you kiss her all over. You mumble, trying to say something.
“Don’t, don’t say anything!”
She holds you in her embrace and you silently merge with her body.
Half an hour, maybe an hour later, she sits up in the bed and asks, “Do you have any coffee?”
“On the bookshelf.”
She makes a big cup, and stirring it with a spoon comes and sits on the edge of the bed. She has a mouthful of the hot coffee as she looks at you and says, “Now, wasn’t that good?”
You are at a loss for words. She is enjoying her coffee as if nothing has happened.
“You’re a strange woman,” you say, looking at the veins radiating outwards on her breasts.
“There’s nothing strange about me, everything was very natural, you just need a woman’s love.”
“Don’t talk to me about women and love, are you like this with everyone?”
“As long as I like the person and I’m in the mood.”
Her diffidence infuriates you and you want to blurt out hurtful things, but only say, “You’re wanton!”
“Isn’t this what you yourself would like to be able to do? It’s just that it’s easier for women. If a woman can see through you, why shouldn’t she enjoy herself? What else do you have to say?” She puts down the cup and turning her large brown nipples to you, says with a pitying expression, “You’re really such a pitiful big child, don’t you want to have another go?”
“Why not?”
You welcome her.
“You’re satisfied now, aren’t you?” she says.
You want to nod instead of replying, aware only of a comfortable weariness.
“Talk about something,” she urges by your ear.
“What shall I talk about?”
“Anything.”
“Not talk about the key?”
“Talk about anything you want to.”
“It could be said that this key–”
“I’m listening.”
“If it’s lost then so be it.”
“You’ve already said this.”
“In any case he went out–”
“What happened when he was out?”
“People on the street were rushing about.”
“Go on!”
“He was surprised.”
“Why?”
“He couldn’t understand why people were rushing about.”
“The only thing they can do is to rush about like this.”
“Surely there’s no need for it?”
“If they were not busy doing something they would be anxious.”
“That’s right, they all had strange expressions on their faces and they were all preoccupied,”
“And they were all very solemn,”
“They solemnly went into shops and solemnly came out, solemnly carrying a pair of scuffs under their arms, and solemnly taking out some loose coins to solemnly buy an ice cream,”
“And solemnly licking at it,”
“Don’t talk about ice cream,”
“It was you who started talking about it,”
“Don’t interrupt, where did I get to?”
“You were talking about taking out a handful of loose coins and solemnly bargaining at the stall, solemnly, why still solemnly? What need is there for solemnity?”
“Pissing into a urinal,”
“And then?”
“The shops had all shut,”
“And people were all scurrying home,”
“He wasn’t hurrying to go anywhere, he seemed to have somewhere to go, people usually call it home, to procure this room he had even argued with the caretaker,”
“Still he has a room,”
“But he can’t find the key,”
“Wasn’t the room unlocked?”
“The question is, did he have to go back?”
“Couldn’t he have stayed the night just anywhere?”
“Like a drifter? Just drifting wherever he liked in the city at night, like a gust of wind,”
“Just jumped on a train and let it take him anywhere!”
“It had never occurred to him, one journey after another, whatever he felt like, getting off wherever he wanted,”
“To find someone, to passionately make love with!”
“To ravish until he was totally exhausted,”
“Even if it killed him it would have been worth it,”
“It was like that, the night wind was coming from all directions, he was standing in an empty square and he heard a rustling noise, he couldn’t make out whether it was the wind or the sound of his heart, he suddenly felt he had discarded all responsibilities, had attained liberation, he was at last free, this freedom in fact came from himself, he could begin everything all over again, like a naked baby, thrown into the washbasin, kicking his little legs, crying without restraint to let the world hear his voice, he wanted to have a good cry to unleash the full extent of his emotions but discovered he only had the one physical body, it was empty inside and couldn’t produce shouting, he stared at this physical body of his standing there on the deserted square not knowing where it wanted to go, he should greet it, pat it on the shoulder, joke with it, but he knew that if at this moment he were so much as to touch it, it would die of fright,”
“It’s like sleepwalking, when the soul comes out of the orifices of the body,”
“It was then that he understood, his sufferings all came from this physical body,”
“You wanted to awaken him?”
“But you were afraid he wouldn’t be able to cope. When you were little you heard the old people say it only took pouring a bucket of cold water on a sleepwalker to kill him, you hesitated and didn’t dare to make a move, your hand was raised but you hesitated and in the end you didn’t pat him on the shoulder,”
“Why didn’t you gently awaken him?”
“You just followed behind that physical body of his, he see
med to want to go somewhere,”
“Did you still go back to that home of his? That room of his?”
