Preface
I
TangWang
(Tea planter)
InJanuary2013,Kashgarwascoveredbywinterfog,coldandsilence.Onmywayfromtherailwaystationtotheoldtown,Icouldoccasionallyseeflocksofblackcrowsflyingupanddowninthesky.Withoutmuchdifficulty, Ifoundthe
MaitianYouthHotel Ihadreserved
online.Asthe ChineseNewYear drewnear,thesecond floorofthehotelwasveryquiet.Ayoungmanwithahappysmilehelpedmecheckin.Asanewcomer,Iaskedhimaboutplacesworthvisiting.HepointedtotheruinsbytheTumanRiveroutsidethewindowandsuggestedIvisitthelocalhousesonthehighplatform,saidtobeover600yearsold,butbeingtorndownsoon.Thenhecontinuedtypingonalaptop.
AfterIhadstayedinthehotelforseveraldays,webecamemorefamiliarandbeganchatting.HesaidhewasXiaolong,hadriddentoKashgarfromQinghai Lake,andwashelpingrunthesparsely populatedhotel whiletheownerwashomefortheChineseNewYear.Xiaolongwasbusyeachdaywritinghisfirstbook,whichdescribeshisexperienceandpersonalunderstandinggainedwhileridingalongtheway.Afterrestinghereforawhile,hewantedtoexitthroughtheKhunjerabPassandheadwest.Iaskedhimhowhecouldgetfinancialsupportforthistravel.Heansweredthathedidntknowhow,butjustwantedtoearnsomemoneythroughwriting.Also,hisfamilythoughthewasstillstudyinginBeijingandcouldsendmoneytohim.Ireadhismanuscriptandwastouchedbyhiswords.Hisexperiencediffersfrommanyotherpeoples,whichendowedhislanguagewithasenseoffreshness.
WalkingalongtheTumanRiver,ItalkedwithXiaolongaboutTheBookofSongsandTheIliad.Literaturehasalonghistory.ThoughtherearedifferencesinliteraturebetweentheEastandtheWest,itoriginatesfromsomewherejustlikethesourceofalongriver,withstreamsflowinginalongthewaybeforefinallyconvergingintoonevast,mightyriver.Weareluckytobeexposedtoliteratureinourshortlives.IinvitedXiaolongtomyhomein Yunnan.My
study wasopen tohim. Literature
isa craftthat needs
sufficienttraining, meaning extensive
reading.Iearnedlittleduringthefirsthalfofmylifewithmostofmymoneyspentonbooks.So,althoughXiaolongsmanuscriptimpressed
me greatly,
I still felt he needed to drawmorenutritionfromextensivereading.
InJuly2014,Xiaolong,whowasunabletoexitthroughtheKhunjerabPass,visitedmeinYunnanwithhisgirlfriend,Lijun,whomhemetwhileriding.Theyearbeforelast,hewenttoLhasabyhimselfalongtheXinjiang-Tibet LinefromKashgar.Talkingaboutthedangerheencounteredalongtheway,hesaidwhilehewasgoingaroundKangrinpoche,themountainwasblockedbyheavysnow.TheTibetansadvisedhimnottoclimbthemountainalone.Itwasbettertogoinagroupsohispartnerscouldbringhisbodybackifhefrozetodeath.Thesewordsleftmewithaspecialimpression.Isclimbingamountainsoimportantandsacred,whilelifeanddeatharesofragile?
WhenXiaolongandhisgirlfriendarrivedinYunnan,Igavethemmystudyfortheiruse.Itoldthem,You dontneedtogointothemountaintoworkwithme.Youcanalwaysfindworktodowhereveryouare.Youcanreadasmuchasyoulikewhenyouareatmyhome.Apartfromthetwoyoungpeople,aneducatoralsocametoourgathering.Thus,wecouldonlytalkaboutliteratureatthedinnertable.Once,afterdrinkingliquor,Ibecameveryhappyandsaid,Literatureisthegreatestfreedomhumanshaveachieved,whichisthevalueithastothem.Hearingthis,Xiaolongwasveryhappy.Xiaolongandhisgirlfriendstayedinmyhomeforhalfamonthbeforesayinggoodbye.LijunreturnedtouniversitytocontinueherstudiesandXiaolongwenttoErhaiLake,
Dali, ofYunnanProvince,founda
deserted cabin, and began writing his second book. He wanted to get hisworkspublished.Whenhetalkedtomeaboutthis,Itoldhimwritingwasasolitarybusiness;whetherhisbookscouldbepublisheddidnotmattertoomuch.
Weseldom contacted each other after that until one day in
2014 when he said he was on the way to ChamdoofTibetwithLijuntoteachasavolunteer.Iknewthathavingattemptedtowritenovels,hewasalsowritingmanypoems.Occasionally,hesentmesomeforcomment.Itwasnoteasytocommentonpoetry.Ifoundinhis
poemsthatXiaolongobstinatelystayedwithbinaryopposition,eitherthisorthat,brightnessordarkness.Ihadheardtoomuchpreachinglikethissinceyouth,soIdonotacceptsuchadichotomyoftheworld.Literatureblendsmulti-levels,whileexpressionofemotionisoftenoverused.Italkedwithhimabouttwoissues:Onewastheself-disciplineofliteratureandtheotherwastheimportanceofrestraintintheuseofthewrittenword.Ifthereisaliterarycountry,Ibelievepeopletheresincerelytalkaboutliterature,tendingtobemorecriticalandlesscomplimentary.Inthewinterof2015,followingayearofvolunteerteaching,XiaolongandLijunvisitedmeagaininYunnan.Iwasgratifiedtoseethemeventuallymarry,astheirrelationshiphadseenmanydifficulties,butitturnedoutasfortunateforthetwoloverstocometogether.However,literature,whichboundustogether,hadbecomelessconspicuousduetothecamera.Infact,XiaolongdidntbuyanythingforhimselfexceptablackLeica.Thechildreninhisphotoswereimpressiveandstorieshetoldabouttheprotagonistswereunforgettableandunexpected.XiaolongandLijunhadfacedthepessimisticrealitywithgoodhopescherishedwithintheiryounghearts.YetI
had adifferent view on volunteerteaching.Giventhis,we tried to avoidtopics about literature.OneyearofvolunteerteachingmadeXiaolongmoremature,butlesstalkative.Hewasfullofoptimismandpassionforphotography,ashehadpreviouslybeenforliterature.
IwassurprisedthatXiaolongcontactedthepresstopublishhisbook,anddidnotexpectthathewouldaskme,wholivesinadeepmountain,towritethepreface.IknewIcouldnotevadeitanddidntknowhowtowriteit.Aftercarefullyreadinghisarticlesandlookingathisphotos,Ijustwroteabouthowwegottoknoweachotherandsomebitsandpiecesofourstory.Hislanguageissimple,butradiatesthewarmthofaheart.Hisbook
providesdeepinsightintothesympatheticnatureofhumanbeings.Itisabookonthehumanmind,andisaninterpretationofcompassionthatmanyliteraryworksendeavortoexpress.Thisprefacemaybedisappointing,butpleasetakeitonlyasanotherinterpretationofhisworks.
August 20, 2016
Teacher,
Can I Get Out of the Mountain?
I often stood with the children on the slope
outside the school to envision the world beyond the mountains. This slope was
our paradise. We read aloud as if to be heard by the childrens parents at the
foot of the mountain. After school, we would come to the slope to play.
Sometimes, Id rush out and see their backs vanishing out of sight. Even though
we said goodbye on the slope every day after school, I would still stand there
each time. Goodbye, Mr. Xiaolong! GeleGele. (Tibetan for take it easy.)
Some children said goodbye while running; others shouted See you, Mr.
Xiaolong! even after they were out of sight.
There were a few nights when we werebrave and
sang aloud on the slope. The Milky Way rambled silently in the night sky. Our
singing echoed between the valley and villages, and seemed to bring joy to the
people at the foot of the mountain.
Whenever I stood on that slope with the
children, I felt extremely relaxed and hap- py. There was an impenetrable wall
be- tween this school and other strict schools. Here, outside the wall, we
happily breathed fresh air. As children of Kham, growing upon the free land,
they couldnt stand a tense classroom.
In this school, however, teachers not only
imparted knowledge, but in most casesalso acted as strict and fair judges.
Stu- dents in Kham were very naughty, some even fought fiercely. If teachers
were not strict with them, their performance at school couldnt be improved.
More im- portantly, their personal safety could not be ensured. I saw a child
kneeling in front of his teacher, pleading, Please, dont ask me to go to
school! He was a child of the Village Head, often scared into wak- ing up
because he was afraid his teacher would beat him. Before we left the school,
the top student in the class wrote to Ajun: Miss Ajun is the best teacher because
she has never beaten me. All the teachers laughed when they saw this note.
In Sangan, Kham (on the border between
Sichuan and Tibet), family power was stressed, so people could be brutal and
warlike. Several times, students from strong families bullied students from
weak ones, even throwing stones at each other. When students were bullied, they
didnt dare tell their parents since their family power was too weak to fight
back. The only person they could tell was the teacher. Once, a student was hit on
the head with a stone. When he arrived at school the next day, having noticed
his wound, I grabbed a large stick. The boys who had beaten the student saw me
with the stick and were so frightened that they cried. After that, they did not
fight again.
Perhaps they could never get out of this
mountainous area and see the outside world. What likely awaited them was this
tract of land and herds of cattle and sheep. Yet most of the children admired
books and knowledge. When the teacher gave dictionaries to them, they all held
the dictionaries in their hands for the entire day, treating the dictionaries
as their friends. Many children were still in second grade despite being nearly
13 years old, and the school only offered courses through third grade. To continue
their education, stu- dents had to attend school in a township 20 kilometers
away. Even before I finished my volunteer teaching, many children had dropped
out of school and began their life as cowboys or cowgirls with their elderbrothers
and sisters. Given these unfortu- nate circumstances, many villagers repeat-
edly requested that I help their children.
To us, this destiny was pathetic. Educators
tried to encourage their students to get out of the mountain or get out of
the countryside to pursue personal devel- opment in big cities. However, as a
result, many of them changed their true nature in big cities or even forgot
their roots, another kind of loss.
We did experience the happiness of pas-
turing as well. Children were in pairs and seniors in groups, singing ballads,
laughing, and talking. Still, as their teacher, I hoped from the bottom of my
heart that my students had dreams, hopes, and expecta- tions. When I heard
someone reading the text of Lets Get Out of the Mountain, it seemed I was even
more excited than the children.
My
home is on the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau,
Where
you can see herds of cattle and sheep,
Beautiful
snow-capped mountains and pretty girls.
My
teacher told me that along the crooked path,
I
can get out of the mountain.
How
much I expect to see the fantastic world outside.
There
must be one day when your dreams come true!
Later, students not only learned to sing the
song, but tried to chant words and texts.
Tibetans in Kham were good at singing anddancing
by nature. When walking along a path, I often heard people singing from the
mountain, melodious and sweet, lingering in the valley. Sometimes, I would sing
along. Then, I would hear laughing and more reso- nant songs.
To me, life here was full of surprises and
happiness at every moment. However, I was not born here, so I could neither
guard the mountain ranges and rivers nor tear myself away from my dear familys
deep love.
Going into the Mountain
This is a tract of land with hope,
Just as on the hopeless sea,
The first glimmer of dawn you see.
Home, is the endless field,
That is silent in water
To serve you at home like a bowl of green tea.
Trodden by broken hooves
Was the hometown of green grass.
When meeting after a long separation,
You are like a fearless army,
But I am like a timid deserter,
Hiding myself in your fatherly arms,
Like them-
The children you brought up including me.
Oh, the Earth,
Whoever can grow up without your nurture?
Going into the mountain,
We are like newborn babies,
Trying to find the homeward journey of our life.
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