‘엄마의 집착 어린 사랑에 힘들었지만 착한 딸 되고 싶은 욕망에서 못 벗어나 유럽여행 통해 탈출의 길 찾고 독립, 어떤 존재는 멀리 있어 더 높이 난다’는 메시지는 수많은 한국 아니 온 세계 독자의 심금(心琴)에 울림이 클 것입니다.

코스미안뉴스에 올린 ‘정 작가님에게 드리는 제3신’ 이후로는 더이상 쓸 일이 없을 줄로 생각했었는데 오늘 또 읽게 된 정 작가님의 첫 마디 “나는 한 번도 행복하지 못했다는 것을 깨달았던 스물아홉의 그 겨울을 기억한다”에 내 젊은 날의 일이 되살아 납니다.

내가 대학을 졸업하고 군에 갔을 때 같은 부대의 한 전우에게 매주 이대학보가 우송되었습니다. 이화여대 다니는 그의 여자 친구가 보내주는 것이었습니다. 하루는 심심풀이로 이대학보 한 장을 전우로부터 얻어보니 <편지>라는 글이 실려 있었습니다. 칼럼의 반은 교수가 또 다른 반은 학생이 쓴 짤막한 글이었습니다. 교수가 쓴 글의 요지는 자기도 젊었을 때는 낭만적인 편지를 쓰기도 받기도 했는데 나이를 먹고 보니 사무적인 편지밖에는 주지도 받지도 못하게 되었다는 내용이었습니다.

여학생의 글은 도발적이었습니다. 우리가 평상시 대화를 통해서도 그렇지만 편지로는 더 많은 거짓말을 하는 것 같다고 선언하고 있었습니다. 아마도 인간의 약점을 미화시키려는 우리 모두의 본능적 노력일 것이라고 풀이하며 아울러 한 가지 분명한 것은 최소한 편지를 받아 읽는 순간만큼은 보낸 사람을 생각하게 될 것이라는 내용이었습니다.

아무리 짧은 글이라도 그 글에 글쓴이의 인격과 개성이 나타나는 거라고 알고 있던 나는 이 글을 쓴 여학생이 솔직하고도 겸허한 마음과 성격의 소유자임에 틀림없을 것이라는 확신을 갖고, “바로 이 여자다! 내가 꿈꾸던 구원(久遠/救援)의 여인상(女人像), 나의 ‘코스모스’가” 이렇게 외치면서 나는 이 여학생에게 ‘연애편지’를 쓰기 시작했지요.

나의 ‘코스모스’가 빨리 꼭 받아볼 수 있도록 등기 속달 우편으로 편지뿐만 아니라 내가 좋아하는 윤동주의 ‘서시’ 김소월의 ‘초혼’ 윌리엄 워즈워드의 ‘내 가슴 뛰놀다(My Heart Leaps Up by William Wordsworth 1770-1850), 그리고 윌리엄 블레이크(William Blake 1757-1827)의 ‘천진무구(天眞無垢)함의 조짐(兆朕) Auguries of Innocence)’에서 인용한 시구(詩句):

모래 한 알에서 세계를,

들꽃 한 송이에서 천국을

볼 수 있도록

한 손에 무한(無限)을

한 순간(瞬間)에 영원(永遠/靈園)을

잡으리라.

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower.

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour

이 같은 시구(詩句)들을 나무판에 정성껏 새겨 보내기도 했지요. 그뿐만 아니라 베토벤 교향곡 전집, 슈베르트의 ‘겨울 나그네(Winterreise),' 모차르트의 ‘요술피리(Magic Flute),' 흑인 영가(黑人靈歌) 선집(選集) 등 레코드판은 물론 포터블 전축까지 선물로 보냈지요.

시간은 흘렀지만 답장은 없었습니다. 상심하고 있던 어느 날 드디어 답장이 왔습니다. 육 개월 만이었습니다. 여학생의 집 주소가 겉봉에 적혀 있었습니다. 고대하던 주말에 부대에서 외출을 나온 나는 가슴 설레며 상상으로만 그리던 ‘코스모스’의 집을 찾아갔지요.

나의 코스모스 소녀를 처음 만났을 때 나는 숨이 막혔습니다. 첫 상봉의 그 황홀함이란 정말 말로 표현할 길이 없었습니다. 소녀의 아버님께서는 주옥같은 시를 쓰시던 저명한 문인이셨는데 6.25 한국동란 때 납북(拉北)되셨고 유명한 소설가 어머님과 여동생과 교외에 있는 그림 같은 집에 살고 있었습니다.

소녀는 흥분해 있었습니다. 그동안 내 편지를 받으면서 나를 모델로 쓴 단편소설 ‘푸른 제복의 사나이’를 유한양행에서 발행하던 월간잡지 <가정생활> 신춘문예 공모에 응모했는데 입선했다는 통지를 방금 받았다는 것이었습니다. 그리고 소녀는 덧붙여 말했습니다.

“받게 될 상금으로 월간지 <사상계> [그 후로 이 잡지에 나는 기고도 했었고 부완혁 대표로부터 ‘무보수 게릴라 편집장’을 맡아 달라는 청을 받고 그 당시 근무하던 회사 일로 일본 출장을 다녀온 다음 일을 시작하기로 했었는데 내가 일본에 머무는 동안 대학 후배 김지하 씨의 담시(譚詩) ‘오적(五賊)’ 필화(筆禍) 사건으로 사상계는 폐간되고 말았음]를 정기 구독 신청해 부대로 보내 드릴게요.”

그 며칠 후, 나는 소녀에게 줄 파카 만년필 세트를 갖고 시상식장에 찾아갔지요. 그러나 어찌 된 영문인지 수상자 본인이 시상식장에 나타나지 않았습니다. 그래서 내가 상장과 상금을 대신 받아 소녀의 집으로 가 어머님께 전달했지요.

세 번째로 소녀의 집을 방문했던 날, 초여름 밤비가 내리고 있었습니다. 뜰에 있는 앵두나무에서 소녀는 앵두 두 알을 따 내 손에 쥐어 주더군요. 소녀는 자신이 한 행동이 어떤 일을 저지른 것인지 전혀 알지 못하는 것 같았습니다. 나는 소녀가 건넨 앵두 두 알이 소녀의 순결한 동정(童貞)의 상징으로 여겼었는지 앵두 두 알을 받아 쥔 내 손은 파르르 떨리고 있었습니다. 소녀가 들고나온 우산을 같이 쓰고 서로 가쁘고 뜨거운 숨을 나누면서 버스 타는 곳까지 배웅을 받고 그 다음 주말에 다시 만날 약속을 하고 아쉬운 작별을 했지요. 

 

하늘 저편에서 황혼이 시작되고 있었습니다. 구겨진 습자지 위에 펼쳐지는 얇디 얇은 한 장의 황혼이었습니다. 그렇게 쉽게 황혼은 내 앞에 다가왔습니다. 나는 소녀로부터 청천벽력(靑天霹靂)과도 같은 절교장(絶交狀)을 받았습니다. 그것도 소녀의 어머님께 나는 대학에서 종교철학을 공부했고 남동생은 고등학교만 나오고 대학에 진학하지 않았다는 말을 한 바로 그다음 날이었습니다.

도대체 대학에서 뭘 배우는가. 만일 교만과 자만심만 길러주고 허영과 사치심만 키워주는 곳이 대학이라면 그런 인간 기생충을 대량생산하는 공장 같은 대학에 진학하지 않은 내 동생을 미쁘게 여길 뿐이라고 나 자신을 달래야만 했지요. 그러한 대학에 갈 것을 그 아무에게도 권장하지 않을 것이며 내 결혼 상대로 대학출신을 원치 않겠노라 나는 굳은 결심까지 했습니다.

사실, 소녀의 어머님 입장에서 보면 이해가 안 되는 것도 아니었지요. 하고 많은 과목 중에 종교철학이라니…의학, 법학, 경제학 같은 실용성 있는 학문을 하지 않고 뭘 하겠다는 것이었을까, 신학(神學)이라도 했다면 해방 후 우후죽순(雨後竹筍)처럼 많이 생긴 성직자(聖職者) 목사(牧師)라도 된다지만 아무짝에도 쓸모없는 공부를 했다는 사람이 곱게 키운 딸자식 데려다 밥조차 제대로 못 먹일 것 같았을 테니까요.

“자네, 어느 대학 출신인가?”

처음에 소녀를 집으로 방문했을 때 소녀의 어머님께서 물으시더군요.

“네, 서울 문리대 출신입니다.”

생각해보면 어느 대학 출신이냐고 물으시니 그렇게 대답했기에 정치과나 영문과 정도 다닌 줄로 생각하셨을지도 모르는 일이었습니다. 가족 상황을 묻자 누이 한 사람이 외국 유학중이라기에 집안이 좋은 줄 알았는데 남동생이 대학에도 안 갔다니 기가 막혔을 법도 합니다. 딸의 장래를 걱정하시는 마음에서 당장 나와 절교토록 종용했을 것이라는 짐작이 갔지요.

전(前) 같으면 언제고 상대방이 조금이라도 싫다 하면 선뜻 물러났었는데 이번만은 자의(自意)가 아니고 타의(他意)에서인 것만 같아 나는 계속 편지와 전화로 애원하고 간청했지요. 부모가 아무리 자식을 사랑한다 해도 자식의 운명을 부모가 대신 결정하고 자식의 인생을 부모가 대신 살아줄 수 없지 않겠는가. 제 삶은 스스로 개척해 제 맘 내키는 대로 용기와 신념을 갖고 살아보자고 호소했지요.

심지어 아무리 호소해 보아도 소용없자 마치 물에 빠진 사람이 지푸라기라도 붙잡듯이 소녀보다 네 살 아래인 여고생이던 동생에게 매달려 보았습니다. 응원과 도움을 청했지요. 지성(至誠)이면 감천(感天)이라는데 사람의 마음을 못 움직이랴 싶었습니다.

이번에도 인연(因緣)이 닿지 않았는지 오페라 영창 가사처럼 ‘아! 그대였던가… 별은 빛나건만, 아무리 애쓰나 내 수고 헛될 뿐… 그대의 찬 손’을 잡아 녹여 줄 수 없었습니다. 어머님의 절대적인 영향과 간섭에서 못 벗어나는 것 같아 절망한 끝에 나는 ‘포주(抱主)와도 같은 구세대(舊世代)를 고발(告發)하노라’는 시(詩)를 한 편 써서 세 모녀 앞으로 우송했습니다.

제대하는 날 제대복 차림으로 나는 소녀의 집으로 달려갔습니다. 벨을 누르자 마침 집에 있던 소녀가 내다보더니 문빗장을 질러 굳게 문을 닫아걸더군요. 나는 미친듯 담을 뛰어넘었지요. 홍길동이나 로빈후드처럼 성(城)안에 갇힌 ‘코스모스 공주’를 구출하겠다고 대낮에 남의 집 담을 넘긴 했어도 다시 ‘신사답게’ 현관문을 점잖게 노크했습니다. 그러는 사이 소녀는 맨발로 부엌문으로 빠져나가 이웃에 사는 ‘이모’를 불러 왔습니다. 나중에 안 일이지만 이모가 아니고 이웃집 아주머니였습니다.

나를 더욱 분노케 한 것은 소녀의 어머님께서 시장에서 장사하는 장사꾼처럼 돈밖에 모르는 사람이 아니란 사실이었습니다. 문인이자 사회적인 지도자급 저명인사께서 어떻게 이같이 젊은이들의 순수한 사랑의 싹을 잔인하게 잘라버리는 것일까. 소꿉장난같이 시작하는 아름다운 삶의 잔칫상을 이토록 무지막지하게 엎어버릴 수 있을까? 나는 절망했고, 그 깊이는 더해갔지만, 답은 없어 보였습니다. 그러나 어디선가 구겨진 습자지 위에 펼쳐지는 얇디 얇은 한 장의 미명(微明)이 밝아오고 있었는가 봅니다.

꿈꾸듯 펜팔로 만났다가 단꿈에서 깨어나듯 꿈속의 소녀를 잊지 못해 몽유병자(夢遊病者)처럼 방황하던 어느 날이었습니다. 나는 서울시청 앞에서 뜻밖에도 소녀를 발견했습니다. 그녀는 어느새 소녀의 모습도 여대생도 아닌 어엿한 처녀의 아름다운 자태로 변해 있었습니다. 나는 재빠르게 그녀의 뒤를 밟았지요. 그녀는 영자신문 코리아 헤럴드 건물 안으로 들어갔습니다. 수위로부터 그녀가 조사부에 근무한다는 말을 들었습니다.

제대 후 나는 한국외국어대학에 다니면서 모친의 함자 ‘덕순(德順)’의 ‘덕(德)’ 자(字)와 나의 자작(自作) 아호(雅號) ‘해심(海心)’의 ‘해(海)’ 자(字)를 따서 ‘덕해서관(德海書館 Duk-Hae Book Gallery)이라는 서점(書店)을 경영하고 있었습니다.

하루는 코리아헤럴드의 경쟁지인 또 다른 영자신문 코리아타임스의 ‘Thoughts of The Times’ 칼럼에 한국 남자와 결혼해 ‘코리안의 아내’라는 책을 쓴 아그네스 데이비스 김이란 미국 여자가 남녀관계 및 인간관계에 대해 쓴 글을 읽고 독후감으로 나 자신의 펜팔 로맨스 이야기를 써 보냈더니 이 글이 그 다음날 같은 칼럼에 실렸습니다.

이 글이 실린 신문 한 장 갖고 코리아 헤럴드로 그녀를 찾아가 만일 나와 절교한 것이 자신의 뜻이 아니었었다면 우리 다시 좀 사귀어보자고 했지요. 생각해보고 답을 주겠다는 약속을 받고 아무리 기다려 봐도 깜깜무소식이었습니다.

때마침 코리아헤럴드 주최로 영어웅변대회가 있더군요. 전에 내가 서울대 학생으로 영어웅변대회와 경제학술토론대회에 나간 적이 있었는데 이번에는 한국외국어대 학생으로 출전하여, 행여나 그녀가 들어주길 바라는 일념에서 ‘포주와도 같은 구세대를 고발한다’는 사자후(獅子吼)로 울부짖었지요. 그래도 아무런 반응이 없었습니다.

그때 또 마침 보게 된 코리아헤럴드의 기자 모집 광고에 나는 응시, 수석으로 합격해, 다니던 한국외국어대학을 중퇴하고 코리아헤럴드 기자가 되었습니다. 그런지 얼마 안 되어 누군가가 만나자고 날 찾아왔습니다. 그는 내가 입사하기 얼마 전까지 코리아헤럴드 기자로 있다가 새로 창간된 중앙일보로 간 사람이었습니다.

“두 분이 예전에 펜팔을 했다는 말을 들었습니다.”

마주한 사내가 말을 꺼냈습니다.

“우리 두 사람은 결혼할 사이입니다. 정식으로 부탁드립니다. 김XX 씨를 그만 단념해주십시오.”

오기(傲氣)가 발동한 나는 이렇게 대꾸했지요.

“그녀가 노예라도 된다면 우리 두 남자가 목숨 걸고 결투해서 승자가 차지하면 되겠지만 우리가 결정할 일이 아니라 그녀의 선택에 달린 게 아니겠습니까?”

“미스김의 의사를 듣고 싶으시다면 제가 따로 자리를 마련해 보겠습니다. 괜찮으시겠습니까?”

사내는 정중히 말했습니다.

“그럴 필요 없습니다. 제가 직접 알아보겠습니다.”

곧바로 나는 그녀를 찾아가 답을 요구했지요.

“포주와도 같은 구세대를 고발하신다고 하셨죠? 저의 어머니를 포주라 했으니 저를 창녀 취급을 한 셈이지요. 이토록 저희 모녀를 심하게 모욕한 남자를 어떻게 다시 만날 수 있겠어요.”

더할 수 없이 부정적인 대답이었습니다.

“잘 알겠습니다. 더 이상 괴롭히지 않겠습니다. 그동안의 무례에 대해 깊이 사과를 드립니다. 부디 행복하시기를 빌겠습니다.”

그리고 나서 나는 이렇게 덧붙였지요.

“이것만 기억해 주시면 좋겠군요. 이슬이 스러지면 흔적조차 없지만 이슬이었을 동안 이슬이었다는 걸.”

“그, 그게 무슨 말이지요?”

나는 대답 대신 미소 짓고 그 자리에서 일어났습니다. 내가 인용한 이 말은 서울대 피천득 교수의 시 ‘이슬’을 좀 원용(援用)한 것이었습니다.

집으로 돌아와 나는 칼릴 지브란(Kahlil Gibran 1883-1931)의 ‘예언자의 뜰(The Garden of the Prophet, 1933)의 시구(詩句)를 되뇌었지요.

이슬방울에 비치는 햇빛

저 태양만 못 하지 않듯

가슴 속에 메아리치는

숨소리 삶 못지 않으리.

이슬방울 햇빛 비춰줌은

이슬이 햇빛인 때문이고

우리 모두 숨 쉬는 것은

우리가 숨인 까닭이리.

날이 저물고 밤이 되어

어둠이 주위로 깔리면

속으로 이렇게 말하리.

이 어둠 밝아 올 새날

한밤의 진통 겪더라도

저 언덕바지 계곡처럼

우리도 새벽을 낳으리.

밤에 지는 백합꽃 속에

몸 굴려 모으는 이슬이

우주 대자연의 품속에서

혼과 넋을 찾아 모으는

우리 자신과 다름없으리.

천년에 한 번 나는 겨우

이슬방울 일 뿐이라며

이슬이 크게 한숨짓거든

그에게 이렇게 물어보리.

영원무궁한 세월의 빛이

지금 네게서 빛나고 있는

이 기적같은 신비로움을

너는 깨닫지 못하느냐고.

The image of the morning sun in a dewdrop is not less than the sun. 

The reflection of life in your soul is not less than life.

The dewdrop mirrors the light because it is one with light, 

and you reflect life because you and life are one.

When darkness is upon you, say: 

‘This darkness is dawn not yet born; 

and though night’s travail be full upon me, 

yet shall dawn be born unto me even as unto the hills.’

The dewdrop rounding its sphere in the dusk of the lily is not unlike yourself gathering your soul in the heart of God.

Shall a dewdrop say: 

‘But once in a thousand years I am a dewdrop,’ 

speak you and answer it saying: 

‘Know you not that the light of all the years is shining in your circle?’

그러면서 나는 혼잣말로 읊조렸지요.

있을 이 이슬 맺혀

이슬이던가

삶과 사랑의 이슬이리

아니,

기쁨과 슬픔의 저슬이리

이승의 이슬이

저승의 저슬로

숨넘어가는

Was the grass wet with early morning dew

to pay your dues of life and love?

Were they dewdrops of life-giving and love-making,

or rather teardrops of joy and sorrow?

Was that for breathing in this magic world to the full,

and breathing it out to the last,

before transforming back

into the mystical essence of the cosmos?

그 후로 나는 회사에 사표를 내고 코리아타임스로 직장을 옮겼습니다.

우연일까 필연일까 콜롬비아의 작가 가브리엘 가르시아 마르케스 (Gabriel Garcia Marquez 1927-2014)의 작품 ‘콜레라 시대의 사랑(Love in the Time of Cholera, 1985)’은 (잘 아시겠지만) “필연이었다(It was inevitable)”란 첫 문장으로 시작하지요.

남미 카리브해(海) 연안에 있는 한 나라를 무대로 19세기 후반에서 20세기 전반에 걸쳐 세 사람의 삶과 이들의 얽힌 운명을 다룬 이야기 아닙니까. 처음에는 아무것도 필연 같게 보이지 않지요. 그냥 하나의 짝사랑 이야기로밖에는. 그런데 이 짝사랑은 50년 만에, 정확히 말하자면 50년 9개월 4일이 지난 후에야 드디어 이루어지지요.

이것이 풀로렌티노 아리자가 페르미나 다자에게 다시 한번 그의 사랑을 고백할 때까지 그가 기다린 세월이지요. (기억하시겠지만) 그는 그의 두 번째 사랑고백을 여자의 남편 장례식장에서 하지요. 이 소설의 제목이 암시하듯 작가는 이 작품에서 사랑에 대해 여러 다른 모습의 사랑에 대해 말하지 않습니까. 젊은 풋사랑, 결혼한 부부의 사랑, 낭만적인 사랑, 콜레라 증상이 있는 열병 같은 사랑말입니다.

이 소설을 읽으면서 이 작품 속 이야기가 나의 이야기로 겹쳐 놀라웠습니다. 정말 알 수가 없었습니다. 헤르만 헤세(Hermann Hesse 1877-1962)가 ‘데미안(Demian, 1919)에서 한 말을 떠올리면서…

“사람은 누구에게나 오직 한 가지 천직과 사명이 있을 뿐이다. 이것은 자신의 운명을 발견하는 것이고, 이 자신의 운명을 완전히 단호하게 자신 속에서 자신의 삶으로 살아버리는 것이다. 이 운명(아니 숙명)은 자신이 선택하는 것은 아니지만. 사람이 그 어떤 무엇을 절대적으로 절실하게 필요로 하고 아쉬워하다가 그토록 간절히 원하던 것을 찾아 얻게 될 때 이것은 우연이 아니고 필연인 것으로 다름 아닌 자신의 절절한 소망과 꿈이 갖다 주는 것이다.”

As Frau Eva says in Hermann’s Hesse’s Demian:

“You must not give way to desires which you don’t believe in…You should, however, either be capable of renouncing these desires or feel wholly justified in having them. Once you are able to make your request in such a way that you will be quite certain of its fulfillment, then the fulfillment will come.”

한창 젊은 날 한국에서 펜팔로 처음 만났던 아기씨를 25년 만에 뉴욕에서 다시 만나게 되었습니다. 급기야는 정말 기적같이 극적으로 두 사람은 맺어졌지요. 그러나 사반세기 전 첫 번째 만남과 헤어짐이 다시 반복되는 그 옛날의 재판(再版)이 되고 말았습니다.

그녀는 여동생과 함께 어머님의 뒤를 이어 유명한 소설가가 되어 있었습니다. 특히 두 자매는 소설 ‘날개’를 쓴 유명 작가의 문학상을 수상했고, 그 옛날 ‘펜팔 시대’에 ‘푸른 제복의 사나이’로 등장했던 내가 이 여인의 글재주 덕에 ‘꽃을 든 남자’(상, 하권, 세계사 발행)로 탈바꿈하여 재등장하는 영광까지 누리게 되었답니다. 이 여인이 쓴 장편소설 속에 등장하는 남자들인 한고만과 안성수, 그리고 이원오 세 인물은 고스란히 나를 투영한 것임을 쉽게 알 수 있으니까요.

함부로 쏘아댄 화살이 훗날 다른 사람의 가슴에 박혀 있는 정황을 목격한 나는 헛웃음 짓지 않을 수 없었습니다. 서로 다른 뒷모습의 사랑만 남기고 삶의 둥지를 떠나 예술의 하늘로 날아가 버린 파랑새의 행복을 빌어줄 뿐이었습니다. 우리 두 사람 다 재혼해 10개월 살다가 다시 헤어지면서 예술을 위한 삶이냐 삶을 위한 예술이냐는 실존적 가지관의 차이로 다시 헤어지면서 나는 청마 유치환의 고백처럼 읊조릴 수밖에 없었으니까요.

‘사랑했으므로 행복하였네라.’

그 후로 7년 전 2013년에 타계하셨다는 부고를 신문을 통해 접하고 고인의 명복을 빌었습니다.

어려서부터 그토록 소위 구세대(舊世代)에 반기(反旗)를 들었던 내가 어느 틈에 80대 중반 구구세대(舊舊世代)가 되어서도 옛날의 반골기질(反骨/叛骨氣質)이 아직도 남아 있어서인지 몇 마디 좀 더 해보겠습니다.

사람은 몸과 마음이 같이 놀아야지 따로 놀면 죽도 밥도 안 된다고 믿어왔습니다. 제가 좋아하는 것이면 어떤 공부나 일이든 힘 드는 줄 모르고, 하면서 즐겁고 능률도 올라 최선의 결과를 얻게 되지 않던가요. 세상에 자기가 좋아하는 일에 열중할 때처럼 행복한 순간이 없지 않겠습니까.

본인이 원치 않는데도 자식에게 어떤 학문, 어떤 직업, 어떤 배우자를 강요하는 부모들이야말로 자식을 사랑하고 위하는 것이 아니라 그 정반대로 자식을 해치고 망치는 일이라고 생각합니다.

내가 보기에는 한국의 많은 어머니들이 자식을 과잉보호하고, 특히 아들들을 끼고돌아 생병신을 만들어 온 것 같습니다. 자식이 엄마 뱃속에 있을 때는 몰라도 일단 세상에 태어난 다음에는 한시바삐 육체적인 탯줄뿐만 아니라 심리적인, 정신적인 탯줄까지 끊어주고, 자식들로 하여금 하루속히 엄마 품과 둥지를 떠나 나는 법을 배워 자신의 삶을 제힘으로 스스로 개척토록 격려할 일이지, 그렇지 않고 좀 심하게 말해서 엄마 뱃속에 자식을 다시 집어넣으려 들면 자식이 숨통 막혀 질식하지 않겠습니까.

내가 영국에 가서 살면서 크게 깨달은 바가 하나 있습니다. 영국 엄마들은 길을 가다가 어린 자식이 넘어져도 잡아 일으켜 주지 않고 어린애 스스로 일어날 때까지 기다리는 것을 보고 한국 엄마들의 무지몽매(無知蒙昧)함을 통탄했습니다.

나는 몇 년 전 뉴욕에 사는 어떤 한국 엄마가 대학 다니는 두 아들이 학교 서류에 제때 제자리에 제 이름 사인조차 못 할까 봐 사인까지 대신하고 저희들이 포르노 성인 비디오 빌리기 얼굴 뜨거워할까 봐 자신이 대신 빌려다 주는 정신병자 같은 경우를 본 적이 있습니다.

사람은 앞을 보고 살라고 눈이 얼굴에 달렸지, 뒤통수에 달려 있지 않은데 동양의 유교사상 때문인지 우리는 앞을 보고 달리는 대신 조상이다, 부모다, 효도다, 뒤만 보고 살아왔으니 발전은커녕 퇴보할 수밖에 없었을 것입니다. 자연의 이치가 물은 아래로 흐르게 마련인데 거꾸로 흘러 오르기를 기대하고 강요하며 허례허식에 사로잡혀 왔으니 이 얼마나 한심 찬란한 일인지 모르겠습니다. 제발 부모자식 사이에 채권자 채무자 같은 억지 그만 좀 부릴 일입니다. 부모 자신이 좋아서 재미보다 낳은 자식, 키우는 낙으로 키웠으면 그만이지, 어쩌자고 자식더러 뒤만 돌아보고 뒷걸음질하라는지, 이러한 부모들이야말로 ‘고려장’ 감이 아니겠습니까. 

 

남자의 사랑을 받아 주는 것이 여자가 남자에게 제 몸과 마음을 아낌없이 주는 더 큰 선물이 되듯이 자식은 부모의 사랑을 받아 주는 것으로 셈이 끝난다고 나는 봅니다. 여기서 내가 논리의 비약도 서슴지 않는 것은, 사람들이 흔히 욕으로 쓰는 말이 실은 욕이 될 수 없기 때문이지요. 무엇(ㅆ)도 못할 놈, 못할 년 해야 저주가 되지 세상에서 제일 좋고 즐거운 일 하라는데 그것이 축복이지 어째서 욕이 될 수 있단 말입니까. 불가사의(不可思議)하게도 이것은 우리말뿐이 아니라 일본어나 영어에서도 마찬가지인 것 같습니다. 하나의 반어법(反語法)이라고 볼 수밖에요.

그러니 진정으로 자식을 사랑하는 어버이다운 어버이라면 자식 보고 제 좋은 일하라고 축복해 줄 일이지, 하고 싶은 일 말려서도 안 되지만 하기 싫은 일 시켜서도 안 될 일이지요. 하기 좋은 일만 하기에도 너무 짧은 인생인데 어쩌자고 하기 싫은 일로 인생을 낭비하고 허비하란 말입니까.

모든 부모님들이 꼭 좀 기억하고 한시도 잊지 말아 주셨으면 하는 것이 있습니다. 다름 아니고 어린이들에게는 어른들이 결코 따라갈 수 없는 천부적 본능적 자질(資質)과 자발성(自發性) 지향성(志向性)의 자생력(自生力)과 자구력(自救力)이 있기 때문에 앞서가는 애들보고 동(東)으로 가라 서(西)로 가라 할 일이 아니란 것입니다.

칼릴 지브란도 그의 예언자(The Prophet, 1923)에서 우리에게 상기시켜 주고 있듯이 말입니다.

당신의 애들이라 하지만

당신의 애들이 아니리오.

언제나 스스로를 그리는

오로지 삶의 자식이리니.

당신을 거쳐서 왔다지만

당신에게서 생겨난 것도

당신의 소유도 아니리오.

애들에게 사랑은 주어도

생각을 줄 수 없음이란

그들 생각 아주 다르고

그들의 몸은 집에 있어도

그들의 마음과 혼은

집 밖의 집 우주에 있으며,

내일이란 집에 살고 있어

당신이 생시에는 물론

꿈속에서도 방문할 수 없는

곳인 까닭이리오.

당신이 애들처럼 되려고 하되

애들을 당신처럼 만들려고

하지 말 일이요.

삶이란 뒤로 가지도

어제에 머물지도 않으리.

당신이 활이라고 한다면

애들은 당신의 화살이니

그 어떤 과녁 겨냥하고

힘껏 활시위 당겨질 때

당신 구부러짐 기뻐하리.

(우주의) 궁수(弓手)는

빨리 멀리 날으는

화살을 사랑하는 동시에

(안정적으로) 화살 튕겨주는

활시위도 사랑하시리.

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of

Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you

but not from you,

And though they are with you

yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love

but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies

but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house

of tomorrow, which you cannot visit,

not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them,

but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward

nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which

your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path

of the infinite, and He bends you with His might

that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand

be gladness;

For even as He loves the arrows that flies,

so He loves also the bow that is stable.

어찌 그렇지 않을 수 있겠습니까. 우린 모두 우주의 활과 화살로 태어난 코스미안들이니까요. (Because we all are Cosmians born as cosmic arrows and bows.)

Opera 'Chaos'

She, the Chaos, is the Taste of Hell

I was depressed and confused. I understood that one had to see things with the clear eye of a

child who could not differentiate good from bad, clean from dirty, true from false and fearless from fearful.

Only then could one share love that transcends the joys and sorrows of meeting and parting, the love that

transcends the distance between time and space. And then one could realize the justification for the

existence of everything in the world.

Dewdrops sipped by a cicada become songs; sipped by a bee they become honey; whereas the

same dewdrops become poison when imbibed by a snake. But one must not forget that even the venom

of a snake can serve a purpose, I reminded myself. The grown-up’s greatest trouble is the loss of a

child’s eye.

I was sick at heart, missing my Cosmos, and mused: though there’s no telling whose providence

it was for us, you and me, to meet and part, wouldn’t it be like the blink of our eyes - like the twinkle of

stars?

Though there’s no telling why the snow and rainstorm come and go in and out of season, don’t the

dewdrops form at night on a blade of grass and vanish at sunrise as night melts into day like a mirage?

Though there’s no telling what we’re made of, aren’t we all drops of life-giving and love-making that trickle

into the sea of cosmos?

When I was serving in the Army, a fellow soldier received a weekly school paper sent by his

girlfriend who attended the Ewha Women’s University in Seoul. One day an article in the paper caught my

fancy. The subject of the article was ‘Letter’ shared by a professor and a student. The gist of what the

professor wrote was that he used to send and receive ‘romantic’ letters in his younger days but nowadays

his correspondence was all business. The professor added that no matter how brief it is, what you write

reveals your soul.

The student’s letter was the more challenging one. “We tend to lie more in correspondence than

in conversation,” she wrote. “Perhaps,” she posited, “it was our common instinctive attempt to camouflage

our shortcomings and human weaknesses; to embellish our achievements; to downplay our failures.” She

ended by saying, “You’d think about the person who wrote or to whom you are writing, at least while

reading or writing the letter.”

I judged her to be a modest, self-respecting person with a candid mind.

“This is the very cosmopolitan girl I’ve been looking for!” I decided.

I started writing my love letters addressed to her at school. To make sure my letters would be

delivered promptly, they were sent by registered express mail. I not only sent letters but also my favorite

Korean and foreign verses engraved on wood.

One was Yun Dong-Ju’s ‘Prologue’ from Sky, Wind, Stars and Poems that was posthumously

published. Yun Dong-Ju (1917-45) was the most celebrated Korean independence activist against the

Japanese imperialist colonial rule of Korea. He died in a Japanese prison six months before World War II

came to an end, as South African black activist Steve Biko (1946-77) died in police custody as a result of

beatings received.

Yun Dong-Ju’s ‘Prologue’

Until the day I die, pray,

Not a speck to be ashamed of

Against the Sky,

I suffered even for the leaves

Gently swaying in the breeze.

I’ve got to love all mortals

And I must walk along the path

Made for me.

Tonight, as always, the stars are grazed

By the wind.

Another was a poem by William Blake (1757-1827):

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower.

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour.

All were sent, together with records of Ludwig van Beethoven’s symphonies, “Die Winterreise,” a

song cycle of Franz Schubert, consisting of 24 songs set to poems of Wilhelm Muller, “The Magic Flute

(Die Zauberflote),” an opera by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and a collection of Negro spirituals.

Just in case she didn’t have a record player, I even sent a portable one. Though I received no reply, I was

confident she was getting her mail since there had been none marked “return to sender.” So I kept on

untiringly.

After six months, I got a reply to my daily correspondence. Her home address was on the

envelope. This was enough encouragement, and on a weekend pass to leave my military base, I was

going to visit the girl I had been dreaming about night and day. My pulse fluttered and my stomach was

full of butterflies.

The instant I saw the girl in person, I could hardly breathe. The ecstasy of our first meeting was

really beyond description. Her father, a celebrated poet, was kidnapped by the North Koean Forces during the Korean

War. She was living with her novelist mother and a younger sister in a picture-perfect house in the

suburbs of Seoul.

She was excited, too. While receiving the mail from me, she’d written a short story entitled Man in

Blue Uniform, using me as the major character, and she’d just been notified by post that her story was a

winner in a literary contest.

“When I receive the prize money, I will send you a gift subscription to Sassanggye (World of

Thoughts),” then a popular highbrow monthly magazine, which was later forced to cease publication (right

after I was offered the editorship from the publisher) by the military government.

A few days after her notice of winning, I went to the award ceremony to congratulate her on

making her debut as a writer, carrying a gift set of fountain pens. For some reason, she didn’t show up

and I picked up the prize on her behalf and took it to her home. She was out, and I left the gift of pens

with her mother.

When I left her home to return to my base after visiting her for the third time, it began to rain.

Before we left for the bus stop, she picked two cherries from her garden and handed them to me. She

seemed unaware of what she had done. Holding the two cherries in my hand, I thrilled at the symbolism.

The early summer rain soaked through the tear in the umbrella, quickening our pulses and warming our

breaths. Seeing me off at the bus stop, she agreed to another date the following weekend.

When I took the last bus to my base the night of the third date, all the passengers were KATUSA

(Korean Augmentation to the U.S. Army stationed in Korea) except one lone GI. Many were clearly drunk.

“That Yankee is all by himself, isn’t he? I feel lousy. Shall we beat him up?”

“Oh yeah, why not?”

“Yeah, yeah, all Yanks are SOBs. Why don’t we tell them to leave us alone and just go back to their own

country?”

They were calling the quietly-sitting GI names in Korean, even though they could speak English.

“Let’s stop this, for goodness’ sake. It’s such a cowardly attack on a helpless guy!” I protested.

Though hearing these admonishing words, the noisy crowd failed to quiet down.

“What? Cowardly? Don’t you dare say that again.”

Following a momentary silence, someone spat.

“Aren’t we all members of KATUSA defending our

country with the help of the U.S. Army?”

I gently reminded my fellow soldier passengers.

Then someone else yelled, “Hey, driver, stop the bus!”

When the driver pulled over, a mob of KATUSA members dragged me out of the bus and

bombarded me with kicks and punches. When I opened my eyes I was in a military hospital, enveloped in

bandages. My face was swollen from beatings, yet I didn’t feel myself aggrieved. Instead I commiserated

with the attackers. I was aware, only too well, of how we were being treated by our American comrades-

in-arms. We were constantly subject to ridicule and humiliation. So I understood that I was an easy prey

for them to vent their pent-up rage and frustration.

In February 1961, I enlisted with the Republic of (South) Korean Army, despite the fact that I was

exempted from conscription (military service) on the medical grounds of my physical condition. Had I

been happily reunited and engaged in love with my Cosmos, I had planned to prepare for the state exam

to become a diplomat, someone like Dag Hammarskjold, a Swedish diplomat who served as the second

Secretary-General of the United Nations from April 1953 until his death in a plane crash in September

1961.

For this purpose, I had rented a room at a Buddhist temple in the Sorak Mountain near the east

coast where I had earlier attempted a suicide.

On completing basic and adjunctive training, I was posted to the Aviation Wing of the Capital

Division, which later fought in the Vietnam War. Because of my spinal surgery, I had to wear a corset and

was excused from strenuous physical exercises. Allowed just to sit and watch, I was nicknamed ‘The

Head Monk of Hae-In-Sa,’ a well-known Buddhist temple in Korea.

Stationed at a military airstrip that was busy with helicopters and reconnaissance planes taking

off and landing, I served as an interpreter for Korean and American pilots and other officers. One day I

caught the attention of the commanding general of the 8th U.S. Army and was transferred to KATUSA. I

was assigned to the U.S. Army Chemical Depot and the U.S. Army 547 Engineer Corps stationed in

Buchon County, Gyungghee Province, near Kimpo Airport. There were hundreds of KATUSA members

and scores of Korean civilian employees, besides U.S. Army personnel, at the base.

Under the chain of command headed by a ROK, Republic of (South) Korea Army Major and

followed by officers of junior rank, sergeants 1st class, staff sergeants and sergeants, KATUSA members

were doing all sorts of menial tasks - from cleaning mess halls and utensils, grass-cutting, snow-

shoveling, loading and unloading, to repairing roads - almost like slaves. We were often insulted as ‘slicky

boys,’ meaning petty thieves, by the American GIs. Even so, the ROK Army soldiers were eager to

become KATUSA members for the comfort of better facilities and provisions at the U.S. Army bases.

I, too, was incensed by the insulting remarks. They enraged me by their deliberate and continual

injustice. But I couldn‘t blame the Americans. Koreans were, in part, responsible for the ill treatment, I

thought. I decided to write an open letter to my fellow KATUSA members, reminding them that one has to

behave like a decent human being in order to be treated like one: “Let’s become excellent emissaries

representing Korean people.”

I instantly became a trouble-maker to those in charge of KATUSA personnel. Those in charge

were, in fact, responsible for all the corrupt and shameless practices going on that brought all the

disgrace and dishonor to all the Korean people and KATUSA members. I received several threatening

warnings. One was, “If you want to save your life, go back to the ROK Army.” Becoming a fugitive was

out of question.

One evening, a gang of former street bullies and martial arts experts dragged me to a little valley

some distance away. I did not forget an old saying, “If you don’t lose your head and heart, you can

survive a tiger’s attack.”

I was always more spirited whenever I was challenged. Years before, it was a sports day at my

grade school. I was the runner in the last leg of a relay race. One foot was badly cut by a broken piece of

glass during a soccer match earlier in the day and had been wrapped, yet I ran faster than usual to victory

with a long trail of bandage soaked in blood, prompting a thunderous applause.

Even though I exercised on parallel and high bars in grade school, practiced judo in middle and

high school and Taekwondo (Korean martial arts) in college, I was no match for the villains armed with

baseball bats, metal bars and knives. I used to engage black-belt-holders and was, more often than not,

victorious, but obstinately refused to be graded and wear belts in any color. It was my credo to go against

the grain, believing “no technique is the best technique.”

Surrounded by more than ten guys at the sunset in the valley, still, I could see each of them as a

big softie, or a timorous soul, not a real tough guy. I’d been observing closely that in movies, as well as in

real-life events, the outcome was decided well before the fight even began, be it an argument, a fist fight,

sword fight or a gun fight. Whoever cowers first becomes the vanquished.

I, though smaller in size, must have had more guts to overpower my opponents. After

disengaging myself from those poor guys thrown into disarray, frightened out of their senses, I returned to

the base and held a ballot of KATUSA members. If the majority cast a vote of ‘no confidence’ in me, I

proposed to return to the ROK Army voluntarily. The vote was unanimous with a few abstentions,

pleading me not to go and urging me on as I cleaned up the mess.

Only the officers in charge left, as the official order for the return of all the non-commissioned officers was revoked at the last minute at my request. In those days, KATUSA members dreaded being sent back to the ROK Army. In their place, I

was given overall responsibilities for KATUSA personnel as a Non-Commissioned-Officer-In-Charge with

a double promotion of rank from private first class to sergeant.

After improving the moral fiber of KATUSA personnel, I had to fight hard for equal rights. In an

effort to reason with the overbearing GIs, I wrote another open letter, this time in English, to all the U.S.

military officers and enlisted men stationed in Korea. I called their attention to the fact that no matter how

deeply grateful Korean people in the South were to U.S. Forces fighting against Communist North Korea,

the American military had come to Korea, first and foremost, for the interest of the U.S.A. They wanted to

keep South Korea as its advance stronghold between the U.S. and the Soviet Union in the geopolitics of

the world.

“Was it just to play a Savior or Santa Claus for charity?” I asked in earnest. Wasn’t it much less

to colonize Korea in the name of Democracy and Capitalism; still less to incite anti-Americanism by fault-

finding and trampling on the human rights and pride of Korean people?

I also reminded them of the historic fact that Korea was divided against our own will and wishes at the end of the World War II when

Korea was liberated from Japanese occupation by both American and Soviet forces. Hence the Korean War broke out in the heat of Cold War tension between the two super powers.

I wrote, citing a passage or two like: “A great man shows his greatness by the way he treats a

little man.” and “the manner of giving shows the character of the giver more than the gift itself.” “Let’s

remember Jesus’ words that man lives not by bread alone,” I suggested.

I was fearful that my letter might have repercussions for the whole KATUSA contingent serving

with the U.S. Army. The effect of the letter, however, was unexpectedly beneficial to all concerned. I won

the official commendation with ‘a letter of appreciation‘ from the commanding officer of the U.S.

detachment for raising the morale of KATUSA personnel and making a very positive contribution to the

successful close cooperation with the U.S. Forces.

I was happy. Even though I had been hospitalized following the beating by fellow KATUSA

members, because of the two cherries I received from my pen pal girlfriend that night, I was euphoric.

What does it matter if I lost a few pennies, now that I owned the most precious treasure of treasures?

Yet again, maybe it wasn’t meant to be. ‘Ah! Was it you? Though stars were shining in the sky...No

matter how hard I tried, my efforts were in vain...I couldn’t hold your cold hand and warm it up...’ just like

operatic lyrics.

Twilight was approaching. It was a piece of thin blue spreading across the crumpled drawing paper of my

sketchbook.

I received a ‘Dear John’ letter from my ‘ideal’ pen pal girlfriend. It came out of the blue. It

happened the very next day after I told of my major subjects at college and of my younger brother who didn’t go to

college. What do you learn in college? I had to ask myself. If all that a college education fosters is

arrogance and vanity, then I would take it as a consolation that my brother didn’t go to such a factory that

mass-produces ‘human parasites.’ I wouldn’t recommend a higher education to anybody and I wouldn’t

marry a college graduate I swore.

Her mother’s viewpoint was easy to understand. Among all the available suitors, why not some

with more practical value, such as medicine, law or economics? Had he gone to a Divinity School, at least

he could have become a church minister. He wouldn’t be able to feed my daughter. She must

have been dismayed.

“What school did you go to?” She asked me when I made my first visit.

“I went to the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences, Seoul National University,” the most prestigious

university in Korea.

With that, she might have expected that I had attended the department of Political Science or

English. Asked about my siblings, I told her that a sister was studying abroad. So the assumption that I

was from a well-to-do family turned out to be incorrect in the light of the fact that my younger brother

never went to college. It was hard for a parent to grasp and accommodate the discrepancy. I understood

the reason for the abrupt break-up. It had to do with a child’s future security.

Until then, I always withdrew at once whenever my advances to a girl were not welcome, even if

not rejected outright. But this time, it didn’t seem my pen pal girlfriend’s rejection was due to her own

volition at all. I kept on pleading with her by telephone and in writing not to follow anybody’s dictates but

to follow her own heart and soul. My entreaty was of no avail. I even sought her younger sister’s moral

support. If one could move heaven and earth, why not another human being? But the two sisters seemed

unable to free themselves from their mother’s absolute influence on them. I became desperate and wrote

a poem entitled “I accuse the Old Generation of Panderism.” I addressed it to the mother and her two

daughters and mailed it.

On the day I was discharged from the armed forces, I hurried to my pen pal girlfriend’s home. As I

rang the doorbell, she peeped over the wall and bolted the gate securely before disappearing into the

house. I jumped over the wall, as if to rescue the princess imprisoned in a castle - like Hong Kil-Dong

Korea’s most legendary outlaw. I then knocked on the door. Meanwhile, she ran barefoot to fetch her

aunt, a neighbor, I discovered later.

What baffled and even angered me was the fact her mother was a famous writer of distinction,

who was supposed to lead the way in love as well as in life. How could such a mentor so cruelly nip

young love? I grimly held out hope. From somewhere a thin piece of aurora began spreading across the

crumpled drawing paper of my romantic sketchbook.

One day I chanced upon my former pen pal girlfriend and began following her. She was already a

young lady, no longer a girlish figure. It was one of those days when I was wandering aimlessly around

the streets like a sleepwalker half awake from a sweet dream. She entered the building of The Korea

Herald, an English-language daily published in Seoul. I learned from the front desk guard that she was

working in the paper’s research department.

Out of military service, I went back to school, attending The Hankuk University of Foreign Studies

in Seoul while running a bookstore, The Duk-Hae Book Gallery. The name was a combination of the first

letter of my mother’s first name, Duk-Soon, and that of my pen name, Hae-Sim, with Duk-Hae ㅡ 덕해 in

Korean alphabet and 德海 in Chinese characters ㅡ meaning ‘The Sea of Virtue.’

One morning I happened to read an article in The Korea Times, another English-language daily

published in Seoul. It was written by an American wife of a Korean man. She wrote about human

relationships, especially between a man and a woman. The article provoked discussion. I wrote to the

editor, presenting my own thoughts, which were based on my pen pal experience. Much to my surprise,

my article appeared in the same Thoughts of The Times column the next day. I took a copy to show to my

former pen pal girlfriend. If it wasn’t her own idea to sever our relationship so abruptly, would she

reconsider her decision and resume seeing me?

“I’ll think about it and let you know shortly,” she replied. I didn’t hear from her for some time.

Meanwhile, there was an oratorical contest in English for students sponsored by The Korea

Herald. “I accuse the old generation of panderism,” I roared. By sheer coincidence, The Korea Herald

was currently recruiting new reporters. I finished top in the written exam and interview and became a

reporter.

A few days later, someone wanted to see me. It was a former reporter of The Korea Herald who

had recently left, joining a new Korean-language daily The Joongang Ilbo (The Joongang Daily).

“I understand that you and Miss Kim had a brief acquaintance in the past. I’ve been dating her for several

months and we are going to get married soon. So give her up, if you please,” the reporter formally

requested.

I felt challenged, “If Miss Kim were a slave or mere chattel, perhaps we could fight a duel to take her,” I

replied. “But it’s up to her, isn’t it?”

“If you want to hear what she has to say, I’ll arrange a meeting, if I may,” the guy said.

“You don’t need to do that. I’ll find out myself.” I responded with a smirk. I went straight to her.

“Didn’t you accuse the old generation of panderism?” She asked. “Since you called my mom a ‘madam’,

you treated me like a prostitute. How could I see a man again who insulted us so cruelly?” Her answer

was unequivocal No.

“I understand. I won’t bother you any more,” I replied. “Please accept my sincere apologies. I’ll wish you

all the happiness.” And then I added, “I just want you to remember that though a dewdrop vanishes

without a trace when it evaporates, it was a dewdrop real and true while it was a dewdrop.”

“What do you mean by that?” She protested. I gave a wry smile and left.

When I returned home, I recited from Kahlil Gibran’s The Garden of the Prophet, a lyrical celebration of

the mystical beauty of Nature:

“The image of the morning sun in a dewdrop is not less than the sun.

The reflection of life in your soul is not less than life.

The dewdrop mirrors the light because it is one with light, and you reflect life because you and life are one.

When darkness is upon you, say: ‘This darkness is dawn not yet born; and though night‘s travail be

full upon me, yet shall dawn be born unto me even as unto the hills.’

The dewdrop rounding its sphere in the dusk of the lily is not unlike yourself

gathering your soul in the heart of God.

Shall a dewdrop say: ‘But once in a thousand years am I even a dewdrop,’ speak you and answer it saying:

‘Know you not that the light of all the years is shining in your circle?’ ”

Then after handing my resignation to The Korea Herald I joined The Korea Times and opened a

pub for moonlighting. I named the pub ‘해심’ (in Korean), and 海心‘ (in Chinese), meaning ‘The Heart of

The Sea,’ the pen name I gave myself in childhood. It became very popular with romantics ㅡ the

students of life and love.

The days passed and I became a middle-aged man. As it happened, twenty-five years later my

former pen pal girlfriend and I met again in New York. We were finally united. Yet again, it was brief. Must

it be in the bud, as the saying in Latin goes: “Finis Origine Pendet.” (The beginning foretells the end.)

Was it happenstance that Love in the Time of Cholera, a love story by Gabriel Garcia Marques,

was published recently? The novel begins with this opening sentence: “IT WAS INEVITABLE.”

In their youth, Florentino and Fermina fall passionately in love. When Fermina eventually chooses

to marry a wealthy doctor, Florentino is devastated. At first nothing seems inevitable, only an

unreciprocated love affair. But his prayers are answered after some fifty years. Was what happened to my

former pen pal girlfriend and me inevitable?

I recalled what Frau Eva in Hermann Hesse’s Demian said:

“You must not give way to desires which you don’t believe in...You should, however, either be capable of

renouncing these desires or feel wholly justified in having them. Once you are able to make your request

in such a way that you will be quite certain of its fulfillment, then the fulfillment will come.”

We met again. My former pen pal girlfriend and her younger sister became famous novelists

themselves, like their mother. Each of the two sisters was the recipient of the prestigious Lee Sang (a

genius poet 1910-37) Literary Prize in Korea. During the ten months of our second marriage for both of us, she wrote two-volume novel

titled Man with Flowers, a sort of a sequel to Man in Blue Uniform, a short story she composed as her

debut piece to win a prize a quarter of a century earlier. For both works she used me as the main

character. What’s more titillating was her serious suggestion of a menage a trois with her sister,

transcending all the mundane morality and ethical norms. Although I was unable to take it up, I felt

immensely grateful to her for the far-out offer.

To be sad, or satisfied, with the truth that you get to keep your child in your arms only until the

child leaves the nest may be a choice, not a temperament. I wished her all the happiness once again, for

the last time, as she flew away into ‘the sky of arts’ after taking as much nourishment she needed from

‘the nest of life’ I provided.

I was happy that I loved her nonetheless. It was the taste of the most exciting and pleasurable ‘hell‘, all

right!

[이태상]

서울대학교 졸업

코리아타임즈 기자

합동통신사 해외부 기자

미국출판사 Prentice-Hall 한국/영국 대표

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신인류 ‘코스미안’사상 창시

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