금성녀 중도 하차 전까지 했던 작업입니다. ㅎㅎㅎ

[유지훈]

Lady Venus

1

Few remembered how lovely the sisters ─ Eurie and Marie ─ were, both of whom had lived in J. Village in old days. Most had, no doubt, passed away. The girls, who had sometimes sat side-by-side on the floor under the tiled-roof, basking in the warm spring sunshine, would have been singing with their legs dangling just like a cuckoo. Now both had grown old. They lay burying their heavily wrinkled foreheads into the pillow before gathering up their strength in the dawning twilight lingering on their glassy eyes. Long time has passed since their childhood.

It was Eurie's father who named her. He was a “patriarch” running a large household including his brother’s family, and a regular of the restaurant served by geishas. However, he was not only a romanticist but culture enthusiast armed with modern education. His tender and warm-hearted treatment of his daughters was something hard to imagine at the time. "Eurie" means a lily in Japanese. Her dark eyelashes and strong white face largely contributed to her name. The younger girl born three years later was apparently less cute than Eurie, but had bright eyes that reminded them of a morning star. “星女(Sung-nyu)” occurred to her father at first. Namely, hers was to be “金星女” with her family name 金(Kim or Keum)[1], or a girl of Venus. However, the very name had, alas, to be abandoned. It was not long before her grandpa who had felt dissatisfied with the name of the granddaughter, Eurie, gave the younger another name. 萬里(Manrie) combining “large” with “village” could be pronounced “Marie” in Japanese way. After all, both names ─ Eurie and Marie ─ happened to be rhymed together as if they had been called intentionally to suggest that they were the same generation of a clan. So his willingness to use “金星女” got a little less intense.

The girls were born to the family with but a handful of descendants. Their only brother had gone to Seoul, capital city, to go to a privileged junior high earlier. After a couple of girls appeared, insipid and silent household got turned lively. As their father repeatedly said, they were something like a lily and a morning star. Their father was an owner of J. Shop, a miscellaneous store ─ a tiny department store. Their mother used to dress them up with the most luxurious Japanese-made clothes and shoes J. Shop had. She would deliberately show off to her sister-in-law in the firm belief that the social status of her daughters’ and hers was not actually the same as that of her sister-in-law and her children whose house Eurie’s father frequented. Several maids and servants set the tables for more than a dozen that included servants, employees and visitors everyday in the house built in J. Shop. Special side-dishes were usually put on the father’s separate table, but only a couple of daughters could enjoy food with him. When Eurie entered the primary school and got her school report cards, he hired a private tutor. Marie placed herself along with her, who became “literate” earlier than Eurie. They read books and practiced handwriting under his teaching. And they also listened to music coming out of a phonograph. To J. villagers, J. Shop represented a more refined civilization, open-minded atmosphere, and richness that made them possible. The image of Marie and Eurie, who wore dresses with white collars, walking on newly paved but dusty streets and bridges with light steps, became something like a landmark of memory to J villagers, even though long time had passed since. Upon their mental reservoir had thick layers of time ─ more than sixty years ─ been piled.

Now, Marie’s dead acquaintances outnumbered her living ones. People to whom she said hello were joining the deceased one by one. However, death was certainly no news to her. She was of course stunned to hear of Eurie’s death not just because of a sudden occurrence but of a heart-breaking bereavement. And a way of death also made her overwhelmed as well. Her sister committed a suicide at the age of seventy six. According to her second eldest son who had called her, her suicide turned out to be startlingly so simple and smooth. On her bed did she slumber early in the evening, but awoke at midnight. Then she stayed up for a while on the couch in the living room with a movie channel on. It was about 2 a.m. when she knocked on the door of the study where her husband in pajamas under the sweater stayed. He nodded casually to his wife who told him that she would walk outside. There was nothing unusual. It was true that she sometimes took a walk around the playground in the front yard when she found herself hard to sleep again. It was such a familiar place, upon which light poured through the streetlamps overnight, readily seen from the opened windows of his study on the second floor. As there was no sign of her coming back home even in an hour, he went outside only to find his dead wife whose limbs were drooping like one of the thickest and stiffest boughs between some dark branches. She hanged herself from a tree that was behind a swing. She enjoyed stability in socioeconomic status, wealth, peaceful family life and well-managed health. Nevertheless, she showed a particularly strong preoccupation with and dependence upon all of them. Marie’s nephew went on to say that after becoming aware that his wife, holding out on her mother-in-law, had already taken a long journey to Europe, she called to scold her son severely later that day. When Eurie’s brokenhearted son couldn’t go on any longer, silence came from her phone for a moment. While there was complete stillness, Marie found some sort of confusion and vague resentment he might have felt before sorrow.

She had put her cell phone on the morning paper she had been reading, before she got up from her sofa. When she opened the door to the veranda, a whistling chilly wind of late autumn slipped into her nightgown’s sleeve. The leased apartment where Marie lived was located next to a small park in the New Town. She had also been staring outside for a good while with the same door open the night before. It was an exceptionally refreshing day when a sweet pine scent was wafting through the cold night air. The waxing crescent was hung askew in the sky while the streetlamps shed a solitary light upon several hollow wisteria stumps and benches. Every time the cold wind blew, a swarm of dry leaves were brushing against the cement pavement with a low crisp whispering, rushing up along and running beyond the darkness. Now Marie made a grimace to dredge up memories of the night before. However, she stopped short of recollecting any further than the late fall’s howling night breeze that had been sweeping the dry autumn leaves ruthlessly. No tears were shed. With age, tears grew dry up in her real life, but when she watched soap dramas or films, they were flowing down her cheeks unawares. Her snooty, self-esteemed sister was no exception at the movie theater. Marie might have never gone to the movies with her sister since last spring. Once they had lunched at one of the restaurants in a department store, which a host of snowy-haired elderly women had apparently occupied, before going upstairs to the cinema. Eurie commented that the actress’ acting could hardly win her sympathy, adding emphatically that actors should hide their tears flawlessly to make the viewers shed tears. Actually her dream was to be a movie actress years before. She was often said to resemble an actor. However, her performance came to an end shortly after tying the knot with a medical student, one of the most promising old buddies of her brother's, after her persistent courtship. He might have thought of her as no less than a cultured, virtuous and genuine virgin character. Afterwards, she had spent her whole life in "living happily ever after" like the outdated happy-ending of that film released years ago. And, all of a sudden, she reduced her long-running corny ending of the movie-like life into tragedy last night. Marie wiped unknowingly teary eyes with her hand. It was sad that no one could see the next scene in her own life. She felt that nothing proved it more perfectly than death. After all, she succeeded in drawing tears from many people's eyes.

Marie usually practiced yoga before having a light breakfast; today not only did she feel like doing nothing, but lost appetite. To gather herself up, she added some honey to a glass of milk, drank it up reluctantly and then had a shower with warm water, putting on seemingly the best pair of underwear. As she was about to sit at the dressing table, her cell phone was ringing, which had been on the table in the living room. It was the name of Mr. Yun that appeared on the screen. She pushed the “rejecting-call” button hesitatingly. There were a couple of missed calls ─ also from Mr. Yun ─ that she might have had during the shower. Returning to the dressing table, Marie cleaned the mirror with some tissues, let alone grains of dust on or around the mirror frame and bottles of cosmetics. Grayish dirt or smudge on items ─ particularly, the nacre-inlaid dressing table and wardrobe that got dusty easily ─ was seldom noticeable to the elderly because of their weak eyesight. Her sister had nagged her to dump them all, insisting that the old necessarily use apparently brand-new items. Those pieces of furniture were no better than “pitiful” white elephants to her. In fact, their presence seemed to be ill-matched with a simple, single life. Nor were they far from her taste. However, sitting in front of the mirror of the dressing table brought her serenity. Marie had been looking at herself in that mirror for ages. She put on Coty face powder and lipstick, backcombed the top of her head, drew a thick eyeliner (closed eyes might once have been mistaken for open ones), and applied the blue eye shadow to the double eyelids. Now she was so old that without paying attention, she couldn’t even notice her reading glasses were smudged. Since the convex mirror for low-vision elderly, which Eurie had given, were removed, she hardly ever used color makeup except lipstick. However, seldom had she skipped applying the makeup base or setting hair.

She cut a fine figure thanks to her long limbs and slender body. But, unfortunately, turning fifty and getting older, she felt her shape a little changed: flabby limbs and belly, degenerative physical function. Marie separated what she ought to keep going from what she ought to stop at that point. She wasn't so concerned about her deep wrinkles and gray hair. When it came to her weak gums, discolored teeth or thin hair, she had no alternative but to slow down their development by maintaining a healthy lifestyle. However, gaining weight was something to care about. Marie tended to be Allegretto but abhorred Andante both in sensing and moving. As a matter of fact, weight management was not impossible if she stuck to a healthy diet, controlling the amounts and seasonings. Eurie used to say that to compensate for her belated encounter with the world flooded with fine food and drink, the elderly, including herself, should regard enjoying dainties as their right. She additionally grumbled that it was nonsense for them to have meals likely to be served at the hospital or somewhere. Then Marie responded that with regard to both cases where you couldn’t but have and where you would like to, the taste would, no doubt, hardly be the same. As for the types of healthcare, they were quite different, too: While the former tried to follow what was good for health, the latter abstained from what was bad.

Turning sixty, Marie realized that in washing her hands, her knees were a little bit bent. That meant she grew weakened. Weakness obviously led to the slouch posture: buttocks pulled back due to her lower abdominal strength and hunched shoulders. At that point, she started to take yoga classes in the hope of her flexibility complementing the physical weakness. In fact, she had been more flexible than expected. What she was concerned about most was her eyesight. While her sister had hoped to be an actress, Marie, who had liked reading books, a writer. She felt that though her dream had not come true, her life with books undoubtedly existing forever would have scarcely been terrible or boring even when she was too old to move around. However, things looking dim and blurry, she felt stunned and terrible. It was not until did she manage to get accustomed to using the artificial tears and glasses that she adapted herself to seeing what remained to be seen. In other words, her vision was insensitive to what was seen distinct; meanwhile she was unwilling to find any meanings to distinctness. Instead of confirm‎ing what something was, she took it for granted that she missed something because everything necessarily would change some day. And she would not be anxious about seizing a certain moment, but she let it go on its way. In that sense, Marie was quite different from her sister, who would go see a skin doctor to wipe out some age spots on the back of her hands or face by laser treatment. Being born exceptionally cute, taking care of her skin on a regular basis, and clothing herself with a variety of latest luxury items, Eurie looked about ten years younger. Marie had her own unique aura, a subtle characteristic impression, which made us confused about her age.

Nearly a decade ago, Marie attended a local welfare center for the elderly to learn how to do yoga. The center was, unfortunately, no more than a community infested with doubts, gossips, jealousies and scandals over shallow interest or 허울 좋은 권력. Then the stinginess, stubbornness and ugly desire aged men or women had, put her off. Old ladies had relatively more "meek" character than the male counterparts. However, during old men’s pecking-order dispute, old ladies were pretty busy not just taking pride in the achievements of their children or grandchildren, but putting their oar in until they got their points across. That was exactly why Marie had stopped involving herself in the center. Not long afterwards, a fierce competition happened among the aged women for a little amount of money, which was supposed to be paid to the candidates selected for the national yoga competition for the elderly. Having been uninterested in the event, Marie was drafted after beating the experienced ladies who had practiced yoga for years. She pulled no punches in the contest, nor did she save their faces with any humble narrative. So she was left out. That was what often happened to Marie, who wouldn’t belong to a group or bothered to socialize with them.

Marie loved to hang around alone ─ she watched a movie early in the morning (charging lower admission fees in Korea), having some meals at the food court in the department store before walking along in the park all by herself. Likewise, she could put those services to use in her neighborhood, which was why she settled in the New Town. Plus, ten-minute walk brought her to the local library. She and Mr. Yun got to know each other at the library. The periodicals reading room on the first floor was almost inhabited by the elderly, who were clearly biting off more than they could chew with a stack of newspapers or magazines, coughing up mucus at times. Marie couldn’t enter the place without being glanced explicitly at, as if their "vested" territory had been intruded upon. The reading room’s seats were outnumbered only by the young people preparing for jobs. She felt so sorry for those young men or women waiting in line at the lounge’s water barrel on having a “triangular gimbab,” a very popular Korean snack, for lunch that she refrained herself instead of competing against them for seats. Thus Marie arrived at the library earlier at its opening hour to check out some books, spending all morning on the bench in the woody backyard. And Mr. Yun had kept an eye on her for a while before talking to her.

Marie raised her eyebrows at his image. Once she had refused his proposal for accompanying him to the rural house of his friend’s. Having meals or teas together; driving around the neighborhood, they weren’t close yet enough to be present with each other at the social gatherings for married couples. Frankly, she found him a little off-putting because Mr. Yun had treated her like an old buddy since they had held hands and embraced. Once due to his ill-smelling mouth, she had thrust him away. Notwithstanding his ill-looking potbelly, indecent habit of picking his teeth with a finger after meals, or pungent hair grease odor was tolerable; an intimate relationship ─ close enough to put her cheek to his tenderly ─ was not yet. However, he might have arbitrarily interpreted such a refusal as her coquettish or coy trick. Mr. Yun often justified his behavior by saying that there was little time left for the aged. From her perspective, he was of no better than an impetuous and selfish disposition.

Getting up at the dressing table, Marie opened the wardrobe. There were a not-so-small number of outfits ─ old yet timeless ones. Her antiquated clothes, which young Marie had worn while working at a boutique across from a Women’s college, were still in their proper places. Loose hippie type dresses, blue jeans and pullover sweaters ─ unaffected by time ─ she sometimes had on, whereas a scarcely touched, two-piece black dress was hidden deep inside the tall closet. She felt that her sister’s preferred winter wear, not suitable to or appropriate for the season, ought to be put on today. While she was reaching for the clothes, her eyes were lingering on the drawers of the wardrobe. She had never opened them for years. In the first were several albums; in the second a box, where faded notebooks and letters were kept. She sighed deep unawares. Mr. Yun was right. Truly, there was little time left for the elderly to cherish any reminiscences. It occurred to her that she would rather burn them all shortly after the funeral. Closing the closet, she stood looking absent-mindedly at the black outfit in hand for a while.

Wan-gyu knew almost nothing about his relatives. Not just because he returned in nine years from the country where he had studied; but because his father had been bereaved of his parents earlier, and he had nearly lost touch with his brothers due to their estrangement. As far as any relative gatherings were concerned, only an obscure memory occurred to Wan-gyu that he had a few times been given some money by old folks after bowing to them in the traditional commemorative rites or on national holidays. However, his mother’s life was hardly any better ― if not even worse. She “never” remembered even coming across her relations. His grandfather, refusing to let his daughter marry him ― Wan-gyu’s father ― had severed the father-daughter relationship. It was the granddad’s picture at the traditional funeral chapel, in which Wan-gyu saw his countenance for the first time in life. The unfamiliar old-timer had changed his life. His grandfather, a doctor at a local clinic of old, had bequeathed no small sum to Wan-gyu’s mother. Then he had been destined to go abroad. However, through less than a decade of hardship, he had exerted himself to get on his feet in the foreign land, only to fail. While he was compelled to come back home after failing to live a stable and orderly life, his mother had been awaiting him not in the apartment in the New Town, where his family had once settled down together, but in the grandfather's house she had inherited. Namely, after divorce she returned to "home town," where she had grown up. In fact, Wan-gyu had ever lived with his dad quite a while. Yet the enlistment notice forced him to leave for her residence. He felt that he might want to stay with her until his conscription. Since it was not long before his military service, not all his suitcases, which had occupied a mere patch of her home, were unpacked. It seemed that each family member had come back to a certain point ― where they had respectively said a bit relentless good-bye to their own past ― of his or her history, and then struggled to come up with where they should start. To bury their anxiety plus a bunch of scars, and ― more importantly ― to refrain from finger-pointing about who was to blame, they made every effort to avoid almost every direct interpersonal encounter at the time. They would be all the more reluctant to come face-to-face with the relatives who were well aware of their past.

His mother prepared breakfast for Wan-gyu, who had gotten up late, and then sat across from him drinking a cup of coffee. With a perturbed face, she said that both of them had to pay a visit of condolences, but one of the displeasing facts was that there she couldn’t help talking about how her husband or child was doing. The deceased was his mother’s aunt. “She’s Aunt Eurie…, your great aunt. You remember seeing her at your grandfather’s funeral, don’t you?” Her voice sounded melancholy. “Now, Aunt Marie was left alone.” Wan-gyu was using his chopsticks for side dishes without a word. “Ah, right… Aunt Marie has ever come there to the apartment we had once lived. You were given a globe, remember?” She went on to talk about her more after pouring her second cup of coffee with the coffeemaker. Aunt Marie was only the old relative, who had attended his mother’s wedding, and sent the gift to her grandnephew. She was also the only one in his mother’s parents’ home, who had come to drink with Wan-gyu’s dad in his place. Her niece, well aware of his suppressed emotion against in-laws, a little nasty behaviors out of drunkenness, or Aunt Marie’s fussy and straightforward nature, had felt nervous but their drinking had ended up without any trouble.

Great aunts called Eurie and Marie weren’t in Wan-gyu’s memory. Then he also realized that he knew nothing about his relatives or elderly. Neither had he had an opportunity to encounter, nor known how to deal with them. However, he reluctantly said that he would willingly go to the funeral chapel with her, because she had already poured the third cup of coffee ― obviously acquiescent request for accompanying her. His mother still depended on coffee or liquor in spite of the doctor’s warnings against them. When he reached out to pull her cup to his side, a faint liquor smell on her breath after the coffee scent was perceived suddenly.

The traditional funeral chapel was arranged in the funeral hall of the general hospital, where the family of the deceased had gotten regular checkups. For her husband and the eldest son were the medical college graduates that belonged to the hospital, the funeral arrangement was made swiftly. When Wan-gyu parked his car in the parking lot, making their way into the chapel by checking the directions on the electronic display, Aunt Marie had been sitting inside the eatery next to the chapel. He offered his condolence money to one of the receptionists, taking off his shoes, getting inside and extending his condolences to chief mourners. Everything was somewhat awkward and perplexing. When Wan-gyu’s mother entered a room where there had been rectangular tables in rows, someone ushered her inside, where the dead person’s relatives had been occupied. Without direct eye-contact, they bowed to several elderly people. And then after being seated, they had to have some rice cakes, fruits, dry snacks or yukgaejang, hot spicy meat stew.

Both place and food were unfamiliar, but the most was verbal exchanges. Unlike the bitterness associated with Eurie’s death, old friends exchanged amicable greetings and a variety of issues echoing here and there, meandering around the narrow room. The elderly seemed to have a tendency to talk with a loud voice, and repeat over and over. His mother refused to join with them, having a conversation with a short-hair and slender old lady seated next to her. Afterwards, both of them went out together after saying they would go to the toilet. Holding his position, Wan-gyu came to know about the old people quite a lot. In doing so, nothing was easier than figuring out their pecking-order. Walking along with people from whom the voices came, he gave glimpses of their faces, drawing a picture of the family relationships on his mind bit by bit. The family tree commonly seen on the fireplace in the US homes occurred to him. In the coin-size medals on the branches were pictures of grandparents through linear descendants in an orderly way. He was completing the “family tree,” which consisted of the elderly at the funeral parlor. That was more interesting than expected.

On their way home, his mother burst into laughter a few times. Wan-gyu talked humorously about the elderly at the funeral, based on their conversation. “Firstly, old Koreans seem to be busy going somewhere. Namely, something like a local welfare center or a community college for the elderly was placed in an apartment complex, church or Buddhist temple or somewhere else. And they are likely to learn, such as how to use the computer, or a smart phone, or practice healing Qigong gymnastics. And there are groups for enjoying a regular hike, or making a pilgrimage to cultural properties. Then almost all of them always come in groups. By the way, they are not just hanging around, but they like to pluck herbs or pick up acorns, so they apparently love what gets them something, that is, they are pursuing productivity and efficiency.” “So, go ahead.” He paid attention to try to recollect more after noticing his mother was enjoying his narrative. The gray-haired did volunteer activities and taught industriously. They also participated in several programs at Gu chung, the district office, or the children’s welfare center. Additionally, there were old men who not only instructed the Korean manners and customs at the afterschool courses, but bragged about being paid ― as assistant instructor ― just for writing some Chinese letters on the blackboard because of the instructor poor at handwriting. At the elderly center, there was a system of pay based on the number of old students. Meanwhile, an old lady said boastfully that she gathered lots of elderly students by using her popularity. However, other grannies complained about the fact she had been paid without teaching, because the old men hated to learn. The elderly had a great deal of general knowledge. They knew a lot about health, and had no difficulty determining which would be better, like among the insurance or bank’s products. Some old gentlemen, relatively more sophisticated, using the SNS or sometimes posting on their blogs, stressed loudly over and over that they outsmarted the young. On the other hand, they also had a little credulous mind. For instance, hearing someone else’s true story of being swindled by con artists using inefficient luxurious medical devices or dietary supplements as “baits,” they scrambled to talk about their own experiences.

Wan-gyu went on to talk about the conversational differences between old ladies and gentlemen. In old men’s world, the oldest almost kept others from giving voice. Rebuke or criticism was on their main menu. If other aged men came in pairs talking with each other, turning a deaf ear to him, the oldest admonished them to concentrate. And then they pretended back to focus on his remark shortly before continuing their own dialogue. Though grannies seemed to take turns in talking, each of the old ladies, hardly listening to what the next was saying, continued their previous tales. Nevertheless their conversation sounded seamless just because they couldn’t say without bragging, different only in level or story. Preoccupied with talking about themselves, they managed, quite curiously, to respond whenever they thought an issue they felt like butting in came up. When someone said there had ever been a kind of competition among the grannies for attracting a young public service worker at the elderly center, all of the elderly dismissed it loudly. His mother responded with a smile, “You can’t talk about the elderly that way here in Korea.” “I know, mom.” Wan-gyu added, “ I learned it today.” “They hate impudent behaviors most. And… that granny, called Marie, right?” “Yes.” She nodded without asking whom he was talking about. Both of them were well aware of what each other meant without any explanation. “I will drive her to the burial plot.” “Yeah…” he nodded. The site was in J. Village. The trip to Aunt Eurie’s family gravesite was also her solemn journey to home.

It would do well to sleep before heading for the burial site. Marie came home early in the evening. After cleaning her place, packing everything that might be needed before leaving tomorrow, she went to sleep. However, she seemed to stay awake all night. A book didn’t read well. For the past couple of days, she had felt dizzy perhaps because she had seen a lot of people at the funeral. No one had doubts about the tragedy of her sister’s sudden “heart attack.” Nonetheless, every time Marie heard mourners’ talking in whispers, she became more attentive to them. Her sister’s way of dying, she thought, was nothing to be kept in secret lest her life should be known differently from the truth. No one could determine how to be born, but old ladies might be able, to some extent, to get involved in her death. After all, more people ended their lives on the deathbed than those in an accident. As for illness, they dealt with them in a variety of ways: while some insisted on getting as much treatment as they could, others waiting for death skipping painful medical care. Some considered nursing homes as the last place to stay at; others regrettably admitted that they couldn’t but depend on it for their children. They sadly added that though most were concerned about senile dementia, it would lead the egoistic but innocent end of life, in that he or she should feel no pain. That is, the distressing course toward the end of life was more frightening than death itself. It was also crucial to be optimistic about having the honor of the meaningful life and remaining in someone else’s memory. However, painfulness was their greatest concern. Marie, turning seventy, felt she had lived quite a long time, convinced of death’s coming nearer. And the fact her dead friends outnumbered the living lessened the fright. Nonetheless, concern about painfulness seldom vanished. Which painfulness had on earth her sister faced or avoided? Still she wasn’t quite sure.

Marie, getting out of bed, approached the floor. Having no alternative but to turn on the television, she had a difficulty focusing on the talk show she had usually watched. She flipped channels with the remote controller, stopping at the classic film, “Dance of Life.” That’s the very movie she once watched with her sister long ago. It was back in time when they lived together in the city in which a provincial office had been situated. Eurie and Marie left a girls’ high school there. Their father had passed away by the time the elder sister graduated from College of Education. Going downhill, the family’s economic conditions had collapsed completely since then. Marie couldn’t help being determined to attend Fashion College instead of university. Even when her sister was married in Seoul, Marie had lived in the city. She also tied the knot and gave birth to a child. It was ten years later when she did a moonlight flit to Seoul due to her husband’s business failure. Going out to the movies with her sister, Marie was only a high school girl. When it came to the story of “Dance of Life” ― a middle-aged female, wrapping up her husband’s funeral, asked around looking for males on her notebook one by one ― Marie found it less realistic. Getting out of the theater, each of them bought a jotter. Uninterested, Marie reluctantly followed Eurie’s sentimental proposal: when they became grey-haired ladies, they look for males of the past with notes on their own blind dates. Eurie would have filled it up if she had been even a little fond of writing. However, Marie had nothing to jot down about. The severe crush she had was too private to put down.

Marie turned the TV off and rose from the sofa. Entering the bedroom, she opened the nacre-inlaid wardrobe. And then she sat down, holding each end of the drawer with her hands and pulling the first. Untouched for a long time, it wouldn’t open well. There were three albums seen in the drawer.

The cover of the oldest was clothed with navy-blue velvet. Between layer after layer of the black hardboard was a piece of thin waxed paper to protect the photos. Turning the first page, Marie found her wedding photos. The setting was the school auditorium. While the bride in a stylish wedding dress let her veil down over her back, her vertically-challenged partner whose face was a little dark didn’t match well with his dress suit. What’s worse, he looked countrified and needy due to his ludicrous hairstyle. She was turning over the pages fast. When the picture of her sister’s wedding ceremony showed up in the corner, she paused. Eurie and her husband had nuptials at the wedding hall that had opened for the first time in J. Village. They were the most spectacularly luxurious ceremony ever: children, sprinkling pieces of colored paper, were walking on the red silk; a gilt phoenix stuck out on the wall painted delicate beige. Under the white arch with a band of colorful flowers intagliated along, were the smiling couple ― 서울에서 내려왔다 from Seoul ― standing in a classic pose. Marie remembered the arch vividly. A host of villagers were invited to the meaningful ceremony where a couple of influential families had relation by marriage. Among them was the man Marie had longed to see. Simply exchanging glances with him even at a far distance made her flushed and her heart flutter. He then accompanied his wife. The album under the first, covered with a cloth flower-patterned, worn and faded, was an antiquated too. On its cover were gilt letters “reminiscence” without a couple of strokes. Lots pictures most of which were those of Marie’s family had been filled there. Her husband was a laconic speaker who had few spare-time activities. Coming home from work at the construction site almost on a daily basis, he spent much time but taking a nap. He had never had a serious conversation with his wife except on matters like her in-laws, money or their child. However, any season couldn’t pass by without their going for a family picnic. He had sometimes taken his wife and son to vineyards, amusement parks, Buddhist temples or beaches, taking pictures of them. Marie and her son in the photos never smiled in a single time. Drunken at the picnic, he turned quick-and-hot tempered unfortunately. After a fuss of drunken frenzy, he felt asleep; waking up so regrettable, he continued ― as a tacit apology ― focusing on both of them with his camera. Nevertheless, no excursions without alcohol.

The last one was her son’s. It contained his chronological history from childhood when he rode a tricycle. Of course, pictures implying their economical difficulty or bankrupt husband’s being far away were never to be seen. And the last photo showed his high school commencement.

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[1] “金星” and “女” means Venus and a girl(or woman) respectively.

[영써니]

제목(Lady Venus)에서 전문 출판번역가의 경룬이 느껴집니다^^
시간이 나는대로 들어와 정독할 생각입니다.
자료를 올려주셔서 감사합니다.

[영써니]

첫 두 문단을 소리내어 읽어보니 운율도 잘 맞는 것 같습니다.

[람누스]

문장이 정말 좋네요... 많이 배웁니다.

[옥까]

다른 것들은 둘째치고 처음 Few remembered 부터 오역입니다. Few remembered는 말그대로 아주 적은 수의 사람들이 기억했다는 뜻인데, 뭐 한글로 역번역하면 "~하는 사람이 거의 없다"라고 할 수도 있겠지만, 원문 "사람은 이제 거의 없다. 대부분 고인이 되었을 것이다."의 뉘앙스는 "그런 사람들이 이제 거의 남아 있지 않다는 것"입니다; "이제 거의 없다"에서 "없다"가 볼드체로 표
기되어있다 해도 과언이 아니죠 . Few remembered는 "(어떤 상정된) 사람들 중에 극소수의 사람들만이 리멤버했다"는 뉘앙스를 가지고 있죠...

[번역지망생짱]

Few and a few are both used in front of nouns, but they do not have the same meaning. You use a few simply to show that you are talking about a small number of people or things.I'm having a dinner party for a few close friends.

When you use few without 'a', you are emphasizing that there are only a small number of people or things of a particular kind. So, for example, if you say 'I have a few friends', you are simply saying that you have some friends. However, if you say 'I have few friends', you are saying that you do not have enough friends...

few는 부정적인 뉘앙스이므로 타당하다고 봅니다

[옥까]

" if you say 'I have few friends', you are saying that you do not have enough friends..." 그러니까 Few remembered 원문의 초점인 "이제 거의 없다"를 그러한 사람들의 숫자 혹은 그 부족함으로 전치시켜버린다는 뜻입니다. 굳이 Few 를 사용하자면 Few people who could remember ~ were left now 혹은 there were now few people who ~ . 제가 자기모순에 이른 것도 같은데... 결국 few를 사용한 자체는 잘못된 것은 아니지만, few remembered 조합의 사용은 원문 "이제 거의 없다"를 There was (혹은 is) hardly anyone left who 처럼 제대로 표현하지 못한다는 의견입니다.

[영써니]

오늘 전에 이어서 3~4 문단을 소리내어 읽었는데, 술술 잘 읽혀서 무척 즐겁습니다.
TIME, THE NEWYORK TIMES 등을 읽을 때와는 또다른 즐거움입니다.^^

[유지훈]

과찬이십니다... ^^ 내년에 도전하려고 실력을 더 연마하고 있습니다. ㅎㅎㅎ