南山紅點 A Patch of Red on South Mountain
行者將身一縱,跳上雲端裡,手搭涼篷,睜眼觀看。可憐西方路甚是寂寞,更無莊堡人家,正是多逢樹木,少見人煙去處。看多時,只見正南上有一座高山,那山向陽處,有一片鮮紅的點子。行者按下雲頭道:「師父,有吃的了。」那長老問甚東西。行者道:「這裡沒人家化飯,那南山有一片紅的,想必是熟透了的山桃,我去摘幾個來你充饑。」三藏喜道:「出家人若有桃子吃,就為上分了。」行者取了缽盂,縱起祥光,你看他觔斗幌幌,冷氣颼颼,須臾間,奔南山摘桃不題。行者将身一纵,跳上云端里,手搭凉篷,睁眼观看。可怜西方路甚是寂寞,更无庄堡人家,正是多逢树木,少见人烟去处。看多时,只见正南上有一座高山,那山向阳处,有一片鲜红的点子。行者按下云头道:「师父,有吃的了。」那长老问甚东西。行者道:「这里没人家化饭,那南山有一片红的,想必是熟透了的山桃,我去摘几个来你充饥。」三藏喜道:「出家人若有桃子吃,就为上分了。」行者取了钵盂,纵起祥光,你看他觔斗幌幌,冷气飕飕,须臾间,奔南山摘桃不题。
逐句解 Line by line
Pilgrim gave his body a heave and leapt up onto the clouds; shading his eyes with a hand like an awning, he opened them wide and looked about.
手搭涼篷 — a hand raised like a little awning — is the stock gesture for shading the eyes to scan a distance, and it is worth picturing: Wukong standing on a cloud with one hand across his brow, like a lookout in a crow's nest. Two readings. The 將 of 將身一縱 is jiāng, the word that hauls the object to the front of a sentence — taking his body, he gave one bound — not jiàng, "a general". And the 觀 of 觀看 is the plain verb guān, "to look", the one in 觀音, not the guàn that names a Daoist temple.
Alas, the road to the West was drear and desolate indeed — not a hamlet or homestead anywhere — a country, in truth, where one met many trees but seldom the smoke of men.
人煙 (rén yān) is one of those phrases that draws its own picture: "the smoke of people" — cooking fires, therefore houses, therefore anyone at all. A place with no 人煙 is a place where nobody has lit a fire. 可憐 here is not "lovable" but the narrator sighing, alas; 甚 is shèn, "extremely". None of this is idle scenery. The novel is establishing on the record that there is nobody within miles — which is what will make the young woman who walks up in a moment so impossible, and so plainly a fake to everyone except the one man who matters.
After looking a good while, he spied due south a high mountain, and on its sunlit face a single patch of bright red.
A patch of red on a sunny slope. 向陽 (xiàng yáng) is the side that faces the sun, where fruit ripens first — and that is the hinge of the entire plot, disguised as scenery. The 子 of 點子, "a spot", is the toneless zi that makes a plain noun.
Pilgrim pressed his cloud down and said, "Master, there's food to be had!"
按下雲頭 (àn xià yún tóu) is "to press the cloud's head down", which is how one lands. The 了 ending 有吃的了 is the le that announces a change of state: there was no food, now there is. He is delighted. He is also walking into the trap — the demon overhead needs exactly one thing to happen, and this is it.
The elder asked what it was.
Seven characters of bridge, and one thing worth catching: 甚 here is shén, "what", the one inside 甚麼 — not the shèn, "extremely", from two lines back. Same character, two jobs.
Pilgrim said, "There are no houses here to beg a meal from, but on that southern mountain is a patch of red — ripe mountain peaches, surely, by now. I'll go pluck a few to stave off your hunger."
充饑 (chōng jī) is exactly "to take the edge off": to stop a hunger, not to make a meal of it. 熟透了 (shú tòu le), ripened right the way through; 山桃 (shān táo), the wild mountain peach — and Wukong, of all people, knows his peaches. Watch what the novel does with this small kind errand. He will come back with the fruit. By the time he does, the demon will have been killed three times and his master deceived three times, and nobody will care about peaches.
Tripitaka said gladly, "If a monk may have peaches to eat, that would be a rare blessing indeed."
出家人 — one who has left the household — is the ordinary word for a monk, and it is quietly doing work here: a man who owns nothing counts a few wild peaches as a windfall. 上分 is a superior 分, and that is fèn, "an allotted share, one's portion of luck", not fēn, "to divide"; 為 is the linking wéi, "counts as". He is humbly and genuinely pleased. Remember this line when he sits down to write the dismissal.
Pilgrim took up his alms-bowl, sprang aloft on an auspicious light — and see him now, somersault swaying, cold air whistling by — in an instant he was off to the southern mountain to pick peaches: but of that no more for now.
不題 (bù tí) — of this, no more for now — is the storyteller's scene-change, the equivalent of a hard cut. Notice where it cuts to: the master, alone. 觔斗 (jīn dǒu) is a variant way of writing 筋斗, a somersault, and its 斗 is dǒu — the same one in 觔斗雲, his somersault-cloud — not dòu. The doubled 幌幌 (huǎng huǎng) and 颼颼 (sōu sōu) are motion and sound, swaying and whistling; they do for the ear what a drawn whoosh does in a comic strip. 缽盂 (bō yú) is the monk's alms-bowl, doubling here as a fruit basket.
This passage has one structural job: get Wukong off the stage. The demon cannot approach while he is standing there, so the narrative must send him away — and it motivates the departure so naturally you barely notice it being done. The elder is hungry. The country is empty. A patch of red appears on a far slope. Then 不題, of this no more for now, and the one disciple who can see through anything is parked offstage at the precise moment his master needs him.
The emptiness of the western road is laboured, and deliberately. It works twice over. It justifies a flight of many miles in search of food, and it plants the fact that will convict the demon: in a country where you seldom meet the smoke of a cooking fire, a young woman strolling alone across a mountainside with a hot lunch is not a coincidence. The reader is handed the evidence a good many passages before Tripitaka refuses it.
A small store of pathos is laid up here for later. The elder's modest, grateful 就為上分了 — peaches would be a blessing — and Wukong's readiness to fly for them frame the pair of them in a moment of plain domestic tenderness. It is the last one they get.