Translated by Josh Spacë
Zhu Ge belongs in that odd identifier a “writer’s writer”; combining an expert adoration of literature with skillful rumination into the nature of writing, Zhu’s text will likely resonate deeply with anyone who has a curiosity into the internal life of words—how they live, how they move, how they capture us. In her essay, “Rest Stop in the Clouds”, translated by Josh Spacë, she traverses history, psychogeography, and metaphysics of classical Chinese literature in pursuit of that omnipresent question: where do words go when they leave us?
To read more from Zhu Ge, check out Spittoon Literary Magazine Issue 7. Those residing in China can order the magazine on Weidian.
云中驿站
某夜，我曾经和两位朋友，站在凌霄阁的牌匾下。我们刚从一场忽如其来的大雨里奔突而入，便聚众在廊下抽起了烟。我们谈着无聊的事情和没有用的话题，迟迟不愿回到封闭的房间里去。世上每天都在发生的事，别人的事，书本里写过的事，既遥远又熟悉，就像总有一天会发生在自己身上一样。正因如此这般，说再多道理都是无用，既是无用，多说便也更是无妨。这样的夜晚，就是这样变得无所谓了。
檐外依旧坠着春雨。在雨幕下，泥土浸润，水汽氤氲。很多茁壮生长的声音纷至沓来，我们之间忽然也就安静了下来。凌霄阁白天是酒肉饭场，这会儿门窗紧闭，内里裹着巨大的沉重。一位朋友靠在紧锁的阁门上，阁门为之微微晃动，终于还是承受住了他的倚靠。牌匾的灯光从上方打在他脸上，使他如同伦勃朗的画中造像，金黄的一束微光周围，全是浓淡深浅的阴影，黑眼圈尤其滞重，仿佛彻夜不眠的公子宁采臣还未及等来命定的聂小倩。另一位朋友以他的年长，不合时宜地半坐在栏杆上，他的神情岸然坦荡，他的衣衫褶皱重重，在昏黄的灯笼下，一团灰黑的影子难以细辨，且与他亦步亦趋——在这晚，他看起来像某种全新的人，没有被这世界用过的人。古往今来，在时间的线上，展开过无数次相遇和相聚。张岱摇橹至湖心，遇见金陵人，共饮三大杯，没有交换联系方式，便分开了。李涉夜宿九江，绿林豪客深夜来访，相谈甚欢不问生死，相忘于江湖。杜甫在最后一年，辗转长沙重逢李龟年，正是暮春时节落英缤纷，一切都走向了尽头。这些相聚一次次重复、轮回，一个叠加了另一个，在互相的底色上交汇映衬，渐趋于斑驳，终归大同小异。在这座驿站的花园、湖边、长廊下，数不清的相聚时刻上演着。每一场露水檐下的谈话，最后皆指向分别。在时间线性的延伸里面，所有的相遇从没有机会打败时间，最终反被时间所攫获。只有在某个峰值上，例如此时此地，夜越发深重，好像看不见黎明，人们被迫悬停在征途中，忍不住挣脱了惯性，暂时离开了过去，又还来不及奔向未来。“莫说相公痴，更有痴似相公者”，张岱的舟子于聚会结束后的一番话还在耳边。没心没肺的邂逅，尤是一场痴人说梦。
Rest Stop in the Clouds
One night I stood with two friends beneath the plaque of Lingxiao Pavilion. We came bolting in seeking shelter from a sudden downpour, gathering in the hall, lighting up cigarettes. We chatted about boring things and subjects of no significance. Then, sluggishly, unwillingly, we returned to our respective, sealed rooms. Those everyday occurrences—the affairs of others, those within books—are at once remote, and yet again, intimate, familiar, just as if they’ll one day inevitably happen to oneself. And it is precisely because of this that speaking words of reason is useless. And since it is useless, speaking some more won’t hurt anybody. So, just like that, a night like this became inconsequential.
Beyond the eaves, the spring rains are still crashing down. Beneath the curtain of rain the earth is saturated through, vapours unfurling densely through the air. The sounds of vigorous growth come in thick and fast, and suddenly a silence falls among us. In the daytime, Lingxiao Pavilion is a tavern that serves meat and liquor. Yet at this moment the windows and doors are shut tight, with an overwhelming heaviness wrapped up inside. A friend leans against one of the tightly locked doors of the pavilion and it sways ever so slightly, finally settling to bear his weight. The light of the plaque shined down on his face from above, making him look like some statue out of a Rembrandt painting, enshrouded in a faint glimmer of golden light, all shadow, with degree and depth. The dark circles under his eyes were deepened, like the sleepless noble Ning Cai Chen, on that night soon decreed by fate to meet with Nie Xiao Qian. My other friend, being older, sat on the railing rather ill-fittingly, with an expression both solemn and magnanimous, his clothing all wrinkled. His grey-black silhouette, though hard to discern in the pale yellow glow of the lanterns, following his every move. On this night, he looks brand new, like a man that’s never been used by this world. Throughout the ages, countless encounters and gatherings have unfolded down the line of time. Zhang Dai sculled his way to the heart of the lake and came upon the Jinling folk, they shared three full cups, exchanged no contacts, and went their separate ways. Li She took a room one night in Jiujiang and was paid a visit in the small hours by the Bandits of the Green Wood. They talked with great pleasure, yet discussed no heavy subjects, no talk of life or death, the conversation afterwards forgotten amongst the lakes and rivers. In Du Fu’s last year, he was reunited with Li Gui Nian while wandering through Changsha. It was late spring, petals falling like rain, and everything headed toward its end. These meetings happen again and again, reincarnating, one overlaying another, converging and contrasting one another’s essential colours, gradually growing motley, and finally becoming more the same and less different. In the garden of this rest stop, on the lakeside, and under the long corridors, countless momentary gatherings have taken the stage. Each ephemeral conversation is like dew under the eaves of the roof, ultimately heading separate ways. Within the linear extension of time, no encounter has ever defeated time, and in the end, in fact, all of them are captured by it. Only upon a certain peak — for example, the here and now — the night grows heavier, as if dawn is nowhere to be seen, and people are suspended in the midst of their journeys. They can’t help but throw off the inertia of habit —temporarily leaving the past, and at the same time having no time to run off into the future. “My lord should not say that he is foolish, for there are those just as foolish as my lord.” The parting words of the boatman still rang in his ears, even after the gathering had long passed. A simple, thoughtless encounter, the sleep-talk of madmen.
朱个，1980年生，作家、编辑。小说见于《收获》《人民文学》《十月》《钟山》《小说选刊》《小说月报》等刊物。出版小说集《南方公园》《火星一号》《秘密》，曾获第三届“西湖•中国新锐文学奖”。
Zhu Ge, born in 1980, writer and editor. Her short stories can be seen in Shouhuo, Renmin Wenxue, October, Zhongshan, Selected Fiction, Fiction Monthly, and more. She has published the collection Nanfang gongyuan (The Southern Parks), Huoxing yi hao (Mars No. 1), and Mimi (Secret). She was the winner of the third Xihu Emerging Writer Award.
Josh Spacë, Chinese name 小易, is a translator, author, poet, and singer-songwriter from New York. He can currently be found in the Beijing hutongs, working on his upcoming hip-hop album, playing folk music with his band Prism, and doing lyric translation for local Beijing musicians. He is currently preparing to publish a poetry collection, Rootless Branch 《无根之木》in January 2021, with original English and Chinese poems. He was a distinguished guest, reciter, and speaker at Chengdu International Poetry Week in 2020. Find him on Weibo by searching: JOSHSPACE. Facebook: @etheauthor