약국 위층의 집

그 전날 밤 저는 집배원에게 그 일을 그냥 두겠다고 약속했어요. 12월 12일 토요일 새벽 다섯 시 사십오 분, 저는 약국 맞은편 어두운 현관 앞에 서서 그 약속을 깨고 있었어요.

I had promised the postman, the night before, that I would leave it alone. On Saturday the twelfth of December, at a quarter to six in the morning, I was standing in a dark doorway across the street from the chemist’s, breaking that promise.

약국은 어두웠어요. 약국 창문 옆에는 놋쇠 번호가 달린 좁은 초록색 문이 있었고, 문 위에는 창문이 두 개 있었어요. 커튼은 닫혀 있었지만 그 뒤에 불빛이 있었어요. 위층에 누군가 깨어 있었어요.

The chemist’s was dark. Next to its window there was a narrow green door with a brass number on it, and above the door, two windows. The curtains were closed, but there was a light behind them. Somebody was awake up there.

저는 기다렸어요. 아주 추웠어요. 그날 시장이 열려서 광장 가운데 오두막들이 준비되어 있었어요. 나무 덧문은 닫혀 있었고 지붕에는 눈이 쌓여 있었어요. 몇 시간 뒤면 광장은 사람들과 음악으로 가득 찰 거였어요. 지금은 텅 비고 조용해서 제 심장 소리가 들렸어요.

I waited. It was very cold. The market opened that day, and the huts in the middle of the square were ready, with their wooden shutters closed and snow on their roofs. In a few hours the square would be full of people and music. Now it was empty and silent, and I could hear my own heart.

여섯 시 오 분에 초록색 문이 열렸어요.

At five past six, the green door opened.

벤이 나왔어요. 정확한 시간이었어요. 그의 일과였고, 저는 그걸 알고 있었어요. 그는 빨간 재킷을 입고 우편 가방을 가슴 앞에 걸치고 있었어요. 두 손에는 크림색 봉투 묶음이 들려 있었어요. 열두 통이 넘었고, 빨간 끈으로 묶여 있었어요. 그는 뒤에서 문을 조용히 닫고, 묶음을 가방에 넣으려고 몸을 돌렸어요.

Ben came out, right on time. It was his routine, and I had learned it. He was in his red jacket, with his postbag across his chest, and he was holding something in both hands: a bundle of cream envelopes, a dozen or more, tied with a piece of red string. He closed the door quietly behind him and turned to put the bundle in his bag.

그러다 고개를 들어 저를 보았어요.

Then he looked up and saw me.

그는 움직이지 않았어요. 저도 그랬어요. 우리는 푸른 눈 속에서 좁은 길 양쪽에 서 있었고, 그의 손에 든 봉투 묶음이 우리 사이에 있었어요. 어느 쪽도 그것이 사실이 아니게 만들 말은 할 수 없었어요.

He didn’t move. Neither did I. We stood on the two sides of the narrow street in the blue snow, and the bundle of envelopes was in his hands between us, and there was nothing either of us could say that would make it not true.

“레일라 씨.” 그가 마침내 말했어요. 목소리가 아주 조용했어요. “약속하셨잖아요.”

“Leila,” he said at last. His voice was very quiet. “You said.”

“알아요, 제가 한 말.”

“I know what I said.”

“그냥 두겠다고 하셨잖아요. 어제요. 저를 보면서 그렇게 말씀하셨어요.”

“You said you’d leave it alone. Yesterday. You looked at me and you said it.”

“알아요.”

“I know.”

그는 봉투를 내려다보았어요. 초록색 문을 보았어요. 시계를 보았어요. 저는 그가 모든 걸 아주 빠르게 생각하는 걸 보았고, 그가 마음을 정하는 순간을 보았어요. 그가 어떤 사람인지 처음으로 알게 된 순간이었어요.

He looked down at the envelopes. He looked at the green door. He looked at his watch. I saw him think it all through, very fast, and I saw the moment he decided. It was the first time I understood what kind of man he was.

“여덟 시 전에 아이 열네 명에게 배달해야 해요.” 그가 말했어요. “열네 명이요. 아이들은 6일부터 기다렸어요. 레일라 씨 때문에 기다리게 하지는 않을 거예요.” 그는 봉투를 가방에 넣었어요. “그분 마음 아프게 하지 마세요. 여든두 살이세요.”

“I have fourteen children to deliver to before eight,” he said. “Fourteen. They’ve been waiting since the sixth. I’m not going to make them wait because of you.” He put the envelopes in his bag. “Don’t you dare upset her. She’s eighty-two.”

그러더니 몸을 돌려 광장 위쪽으로 빠르게 걸어갔고, 첫 번째 우편함이 열렸다 닫히는 소리가 들렸어요.

Then he turned and walked away fast towards the top of the square, and I heard the first letter box open and close.