The Funeral : 장례식

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지지난 호부터는 지난 3-4월에 걸쳐 ‘어린이를 위한 창의적 글쓰기 사회(Creative Writing for Children Society)가 주최한 제1회 영어 창의적 글쓰기 대회의 수상작들을 소개하고 있습니다.  영어로 읽고 쓰기를 좋아하는 청소년과 창의적 글쓰기 교육에 관심이 많은 학부형들의 일독을 권합니다. 밴쿠버 거주 한국 청소년들의 영어 실력은 물론 이들의 창의력과 상상력을 한 눈에 가늠할 수 있는 좋은 기회입니다.

‘기억(memoir)’처럼 강력한 글 소재는 없다. 누구나 싫어할 수 없는 한국의 대표적인 작가 박완서의 소설들은 주로 그녀의 기억에 의존하고 있다. 작가 자신인 그녀의 과거 기억들을 통해 우리 역시 우리 자신들의 과거로 돌아간다. 그리곤 마치 우리가 그 글의, 그 시대의 주인공이 된 것처럼 감정적 우여곡절을 겪으며 급기야 카타르시스에 도달한다. 이게 글이 주는 흡인력이다. 유원희의 ‘장례식’ 역시 한국에서 자란 사람이라면 누구나 경험했을 법한 ‘장례’라는 강력한 기억의 단편을 통해 독자와의 공감대를 형성한다. 저자는 단순한 장례의 형식적인 묘사보다는 장례식에서의 ‘향’을 통해 독자들의 감각적 정서를 불러온다. ‘향’처럼 강력한 기억의 도구가 이 세상에 또 있을까? 작가 자신이 영어권에 산 횟수-3년-만큼이나 아직 문법적인 기교는 화려하지(eloquent) 못하나 ‘장례식장’이라는 독특한 배경설정과 ‘향’이라는 감각적 도구 그리고 둘러싼 가족들과의 진솔한 대화를 통해 자신과 망자와의 관계를 아름답게 승화시킨 점은, 가족의 의미가 무색해진 북미인들과 ‘정서’에 메마른 이 동네 청소년들에게 촉촉한 한국적 가치를 일깨워준다.

-박준형
어린이를 위한 창의적 글쓰기 사회(Creative Writing for Children Society)설립자 겸 저자/홈페이지:www.cwc2004.org/이메일:cwc2004_1@hotmail.com/전화:778-233-2310

The Funeral: 장례식

WonHee Yoo
Yale Secondary School Gr.11 / Abbotsford

The incense of pine-scented smoke made a path above an elderly man’s face in the black and white photograph displayed in an antique carved frame. Many young people despise the smell of an old person; I was stifled with the smoke from the incense. The strong scent of the tree was hanging in my nose while it burned like an ember that fades slowly to the end of one’s life. I could only sense death through this scratchy, milky gas, especially today…the 12th funeral of my grandfather (12 years since his death).
 “WonHee!! Would you open the window for me?”
It was the voice of my mother coming from the kitchen of my aunt’s house. She was frying some vegetables for the memorial ceremony; all kinds of vegetables and special meats with my aunt, my mother’s older sister.
 “It is freezing out there!! Do we have to open it??”
A sigh came out because it was already December, and the temperatures are especially below zero. My discontented eyes glared at the window, which was fogged on its surface.
Yes, it was a part of the ceremony. By burning the clean pine tree incense, we were making a road, which our ancestor would step upon then descend to attend this ceremony. Whether we are Christian or not, this ceremony is carried out with respect and belief of those spirits.
After the ceremony, my parents and aunt’s family will eat a late breakfast with food that is tasted by the spirit of our grandfather. The fresh smell of my aunt’s beef ribs caused my mouth to long for that tasty flavour. I can picture the chewy meat playing between my teeth.
“WonHee, do you remember your grandpa?” asked my aunt with a slight smile on her face.
Just as I was about to answer, my mother quickly said, “Surely not, she was too little! Her grand father died at her age of five.”
It is easy to tell they are sisters, my mother and my aunt, starting their conversation without me, even though their discussion was the relationship between my grandpa and myself.
“But, I still remember our father tried to feed WonHee. He was surely bad at that. Still, I cannot believe that old man babysat her while we were gone. Yes, it happened when you were in hospital and I was busy with my schoolwork….”
She gave a wink to me and continued her story. “WonHee was just able to walk at that time. How old was she?”
“Well, she must have been two years old. I remember WonSang just graduated from preschool.”
My mother replied.
“Yes, right. You were so cute at that time. I can still remember your grandpa tempted you to stay with us,” my aunt giggled.
“Ho…you, piggy!” my mother pulled my nose, which caused me to resist with an aching scream. “You were pampered by a bag of chips!!” All my family members laughed and giggled, but why should I become a laughingstock by those dim memories, which I don’t remember?
Yes, I couldn’t remember that man in the old photograph. He surely had some similarities with my aunt and mother, but that was all. He was a total stranger to me. Although his face didn’t surface any memories, this smell-the bitter pine tree smoke- brought a vague memory from deep within.
December 13, 1993
 Today, my brother and I had to go to our aunt’s house. Papa told us not to make a noise, because our grandpa had gone into a deep sleep. On the way to our aunt’s house I asked my brother, “Why shouldn’t we wake him up?” But, he just flared up with an anger that I would ask and explained Grandpa was dead. Although tears rolled down my cheeks, papa and mama didn’t punish him. Their faces were so dimmed by grief that I couldn’t continue my blubbering.
 When we arrived there, I saw a man waving a black cloth towards the North above my aunt’s apartment. (When I became old enough to understand the meaning of all of these actions, I figured out that the man was my aunt’s husband and he waved the black cloth, wishing the spirit would come back to my grandfather’s body. The cloth was waved so that the dead man would recognize the cloth and remember his friends, relatives, and lovers, and finally come back to his own body; so we could resuscitate him.) As I stretched my short arms, trying to grab a door handle, suddenly my aunt appeared before my eyes. All relatives that I knew were here and wore soft yellow coloured clothing, which was the traditional mourning dress. Our mommy was also asked to change her clothes to that outfit. While the adults were talking to each other and mourning, I went out of the house to make a snowman-I had seen it was snowing through the window. Because my parents were occupied in greeting visitors, I took a step out from the front door. ‘Papa told me not to make a noise.’ I remembered his warning, but he didn’t mention about going out to play! I bit my forefinger and stared at my mommy and papa; they didn’t care about me. I looked for my brother; he was busy with playing a computer game.
 ‘It will be alright, just five minutes!’ I flew down the stairs, [3], [2], and [1]~! On the ground, there were a few children already throwing snowballs at each other. When I grabbed a handful of snow from a guardrail, I suddenly felt the hip of coldness and that I hadn’t worn any jacket or gloves. The tips of my fingers were turning scarlet, like mommy’s lipstick. Although my teeth were tap-dancing and my body shivered, making me want to pee, I finished making a snowman; it was hard-it had a blank faced. While carrying the snowman back to the house, I tumbled down a stair. Of course, the snowman was smashed on the cement…. My right knee throbbed with pain. I looked down the steps, no one was there, and then up, no one was there either. I shut my eyes tightly to prevent tears from falling, but a few drops trickled down. “Mommy…” I climbed the last of the stairs as I was calling out. When I finally reached the door, I couldn’t find anyone  in the house; everyone was gone! I was scared, aching, and freezing. ‘Do they leave me alone because I’m a bad girl who does not keep my promises?’ Yes, I knew and remembered one more rule between papa and me; ‘Never go outside without any permission!’ I shed tears of repentance.
 Then, I saw a line of smoke through my teary eyes. With a hope that someone will be there, I stepped into a room. There was a Korean traditional folding screen and an incense dimming in front of the screen. Then, I found a tip of a quilt, which just peaked out from the back of the screen. Grandpa was lying on the quilt-so quietly- “Grandpa, I’m cold…” I muttered to him as I crawled onto the quilt….

 Still, I dislike the smell of the ‘smoke,’ however it was the only thing I remember of my grandfather. That time, every relative was looking at me, when I was found beside him sleeping quietly. I’m still not sure whether ghosts or spirits exist or not, or whether the smoke brings those spirits or not. However, for sure, I believe my grandfather covered my pain with his invisible arms. Furthermore, I still remember the 'warmth' and his ‘scent’, which has a story of his whole life, covered all of my upset-ness and comfort me. Even when I cannot remember of him, I will always be a little girl staying inside my grand father's 'warmth.'

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유 원 희(Won Hee Yoo)

9학년 때 자신의 의사로 이곳 캐나다로 오게 됐다는 원희는 스스로 순수 토종 한국아이라고 말한다. 부산에서 태어나 경주에서 자란 원희는 워낙 글쓰기에 재주가 없어 자칭 많은 실패(?)를 맛보았다고 한다. 이런 과정을 거쳐 스스로 깨달은 것이, 좋은 글이 반드시 문법적으로 세련되고 화려할 필요만은 없다는 것, 진솔하고 진지한 글처럼 강력한 라이팅의 도구는 없다는 것이다. 이 얼마나 나이답지 않은 통찰인가? 글쓰기에 대해 여전히 두려워하는 친구들에게, 자신의 글을 읽어보라고 권유하며, 가장 좋은 글은 ‘우리 자신’이라고 말하는 원희의 얼굴엔 영어권에 산지 이제 3년밖에 안된 아이답지 않은 자신감이 베어 나온다.

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