쇼트 스토리 '모를 일이야' 영문판

문득 지금까지 내가 썼던 작품을 영문으로 번역하면 어떨까 생각을 했다. 챗지피티는 한국어에 약하니까 제미나이 정도면 제대로 번역을 해주겠다는 호기심이 발동했다. 그래서 작품 중에서 그나마 짧은 소설 '모를 일이야'를 넣어서 번역하게 했는데, 의외로 잘 나온 것 같다. 이거, 영어 공부도 되네 싶은 생각까지 들었다. 재미 삼아 내 작품 모두를 영문으로 번역해 기록해두는 것도 의미있는 일이겠다 싶다. 아, 몽골어로도 되려나?

 

 

Unknown Feelings (모를 일이야)

By Jeong Hyeon-su

"Yamakko,

I’m taking a leave on the third Saturday of October.

Think about what you want to eat in advance.

I’ll stop by the club room around 7 PM."

— Muldae (The Beanpole) —

 

That was the entirety of the letter he sent. He’s a man of few words in person, but even more so in writing. Since he enlisted, I’ve received about twenty letters, and they’re all like that. "Hey, Yamakko. How are you? I’m doing fine." or "The weather’s getting cold. Don’t catch a cold." That’s it. Funny, isn't it? Anyway, my 'Uncle Beanpole' is definitely a rare breed—someone who has built a concrete wall between himself and any sense of romantic atmosphere.

True to his word, at 7 PM on the third Saturday of October, he opened the door to the club room as precisely as a pre-set alarm clock.

 

"Hey, Yamakko. Have you been well?"

"......“

 

At first, I stood there speechless, like someone receiving a visit from a total stranger. But as I gradually recognized that this buzz-cut visitor was indeed the old 'Uncle Beanpole,' the longing I had bottled up began to pour out all at once.

 

"It is you, isn't it? Uncle Beanpole!"

"Yeah, kid. Why did it take you so long to recognize me?"

"I almost didn't! You must have had a hard time, right?"

"Hard time? Any man can handle it."

 

He had reappeared before me, looking even healthier than before.

Oh, are you curious why he calls me 'Yamakko'?

 

It was back in late spring when the greenery was lush, and I was a wide-eyed freshman running around campus. I was peeking into every club room, wanting to make my college life more meaningful.

 

It reminded me of something my mom once said: "When there aren't many options, it's easy to choose. But when there are too many similar things, it becomes a struggle." Every club had its own charm, and I wanted to join them all, but I made a mature decision to commit to just one. Is the intro too long? Okay, okay, here’s the main point.

 

One day, I happened to pass by the auditorium and heard singing from inside. I went in and found a singing club called 'Echo' performing. That was the first time I saw him. He was tall as a beanpole, so he stood at the very end to balance the line. But even then, he looked a bit tilted, you know? By my guess, he was well over 180cm. My eyes never left him until the performance ended. Was it curiosity? Would it be rude to say that his swaying profile reminded me of a reed shaking in the autumn wind?

I watched the performance with my ears metaphorically closed, lost in all sorts of fantasies about him. It wasn't until the applause grew louder than my imagination that I snapped back to reality. Then, I got frantic. Why? Because I suddenly felt a desperate urge to give him a bouquet. After fidgeting for a while, something came to mind: my diary. I had bought a new diary that morning, and it was still wrapped in my bag. Luckily, as he was bowing, I ran to the stage and handed him the diary I had intended to use for myself.

 

"Congratulations. Your singing was beautiful."

"Tha—"

 

He started to thank me almost subconsciously, but then, seeing me as just a little kid, he said, "Thanks, kiddo (Kko-ma-ya)," and kissed the back of my hand. At 그 moment, I felt like my whole body froze. To be honest, it was ecstatic. It was only after I regained my senses that I realized I should have been angry at him for calling me "kiddo." After that, I joined 'Echo' and kept seeing him.

 

"Senior, do you remember calling me 'kiddo'?"

"I remember. So?"

"What kind of person calls a grown woman 'kiddo'?"

"Oh, really? Fine."

And then, as we were parting ways, he shouted something behind my back.

"See ya, Yamakko!"

 

I instantly realized that 'Yama-kko' was just 'Kko-ma-ya' (kiddo) spelled backward. I turned around. He was already far enough away that I could only see his silhouette, but I shouted back my revenge.

 

"See you tomorrow, Uncle Beanpole!"

 

And that’s how our nicknames were born: 'Beanpole' and 'Yamakko.' Don't you think they suit us? After that, we became closer than any campus couple. Now, let’s get back to his leave.

 

Anyway, seeing him with this new look was a surprise, but a happy one. His sun-tanned face was smiling. Honestly, at that moment, I felt a burning desire to run into his arms.

 

"Uncle Beanpole..."

 

I almost cried out of pure joy.

 

The fact that he came to see me on his very first day of leave, instead of going straight to his parents' house... didn't that mean I was someone special to him?

 

"Here, let's shake on it."

 

A handshake? He offered a handshake. Instead of opening his arms, he reached out his hand. For a split second, I felt like 'this isn't right,' but what could I do? I took his hand instinctively. The sensation of his rough, calloused palm felt like an electric spark coursing through my body.

 

"It’s been so long, Uncle."

"Yeah, it has."

"It must have been tough in the army. I meant to visit you at least once... but it didn't work out. I’m sorry."

"Every other word is 'Uncle.' Do I really look that old?"

"Then what should I call you?"

"There’s a perfectly good word: Oppa!"

"O-ppa? No way. That’s cringey. I like 'Uncle' better. I’m going to keep calling you Uncle Beanpole!"

 

At that, his face turned serious. He playfully flicked my forehead with his knuckle and said:

"Calling a bachelor an 'Uncle'... because of Yamakko, I’ll never get married. Hahaha!"

We laughed so hard we thought the club room floor might collapse. If I said I saw a pair of pigeons fluttering outside the window at that moment, it would probably just be a cliché excuse to set the mood.

 

He asked me to suggest a plan, just like he wrote in his letter, so I took his arm and led him to a Chinese restaurant in front of the school. I had always believed the unofficial statistic that soldiers on their first leave crave Jajangmyeon (black bean noodles) more than anything else.

But he stopped in front of the restaurant. His heavy gaze shifted from the sign to my face.

 

"Yamakko, just a Chinese place? Don't disappoint me."

 

'Don't disappoint me'? I didn't quite get it, but his commanding voice felt like it was pressing down on my already short stature. It was quite flustering.

 

"Uncle, don't you want Jajangmyeon?"

 

Suddenly, he snapped.

 

"What? So you came to a Chinese place just for me?"

"Well, not exactly, but..."

"Then what? I’m sure I wrote in my letter for you to decide what you want to eat."

 

He was usually so quiet and gentle, so seeing him get angry over something so trivial was a bit unsettling, yet somehow charming. It was then I realized he talks a lot more when he's angry.

 

"Listen, Yamakko. If you ignore my wishes like this again, you're in trouble. Got it? Anywhere but a Chinese place. Korean food? Spicy octopus? Western? Or a buffet? Right, a buffet sounds good. Let’s go!"

 

He grabbed my hand with his rough hand and pulled me along with firm strength. Without a thought or a will of my own, I let him lead the way. After stuffing ourselves with every kind of food imaginable at a fancy buffet downtown, we stepped out, letting out a big burp. Darkness was already flowing over the neon signs. It sounds cheesy, but he suddenly said his favorite constellation was the Big Dipper. Without thinking, I said I liked the Big Dipper best, too. Then, a strange feeling washed over me.

We wandered through the city late into the night, peering into bright shop windows. Occasionally, his hand would rest on my shoulder, but for the most part, he walked a step ahead to my left, and I had to spend the whole time admiring his tall back.

 

Time passed, and just as I was starting to feel my legs getting tired—or perhaps getting bored of the night streets—the signs for inns (hotels) kept catching my eye. Come to think of it, those semi-pornographic cartoons in sports newspapers must have completely corrupted my mind.

 

After walking for a while, he stopped and turned to look at me. He opened his mouth heavily. I made up my mind. If he asked to go to an inn, I would say yes as naturally as possible.

 

"Yamakko, you should head home now. Isn't it getting late?"

"Huh? Oh... yes, Uncle. What time is it?"

"It's past ten."

"It... hasn't been... that long."

"A young lady shouldn't stay out this late!"

"But I’m with you. It’s okay... Fine, let’s go home."

 

Suddenly, I felt annoyed. What a 'beanpole'—completely unable to read the room! So we parted ways. He offered to catch me a taxi, but I told him to forget it. There were still buses running, so why take a taxi? I just waved at him and hopped on the bus home.

 

From the next day on, Uncle Beanpole practically commuted to the school club room. Whenever I dropped by during my free time, he was always there, playing the guitar and singing in that soft voice of his.

 

He was a popular senior. There were always three or four girls following him around. Those brats. Most of them were my classmates, skipping their own classes to prepare for a recital that was still a month away.

 

I felt miserable for several days. I felt sick, I didn't want to go to school, and I definitely didn't want to go to the club room. Honestly, it was because of him. A few days ago, when we were practicing songs after class—it was a song he had composed—he treated me exactly like the other juniors, with no distinction at all. That’s what upset me. It meant he didn't love me. Then why did he come to see me as soon as he got his leave? What was with the letters?

 

The calendar pages kept turning. The date for his return to the base was approaching. I couldn't stand the anxiety. I decided I had to be the one to confess my love first. So, two days before his departure, I went to the club room where I knew he’d be playing guitar. As expected, he was there. I think he was playing "Forbidden Games."

 

"Hey, Yamakko. Where have you been? You haven't been to the club room at all."

"Just... I was a bit sick..."

"What? Really? How are you now?"

"I’m fine. All better."

"What was wrong?"

"Just a cold, nothing big."

"Yamakko, I’m sorry I wasn't able to look after you."

 

As if I asked you to! I pushed that thought aside. To avoid the prying eyes of my classmates who might burst in at any moment, I knew I had to lure him to the mountain behind the school.

 

"Uncle!"

 

At the same time, he called my name.

 

"Yamakko!"

"You go first."

"No, you go first."

"Well... you see... never mind. You go first, Uncle."

 

I was too shy to say it. I thought it might be easier to speak if I heard what he had to say first, so I insisted.

 

"The truth is, I have to go back the day after tomorrow. I won't see you for a long time. I wanted to reach out, but... how about tomorrow? If you have time, let’s go fishing."

 

It was a bit unexpected, but I said yes. My heart felt a bit clearer after that. I even felt physically better. The next day.

 

Early in the morning, dressed in casual clothes, I went to the intercity bus terminal. He was waiting for me with his fishing gear, and we took a bus to a distant reservoir.

 

He was a wizard at fishing. Didn't I mention this before? He’s the type who looks clumsy at everything else, but every time he cast his line, a big fish would bite. Maybe I'm exaggerating a bit.

 

The setting sun was softly illuminating the reed beds in the reservoir. After releasing all the fish he had caught back into the water, he suddenly grabbed my hand and told me he loved me.

 

"Yamakko, I love you."

 

Love... love... he said he loved me. I felt dizzy. I wondered if I was dreaming. For a split second, I wondered if he had said "I'd love a... lozenge" (candy)? But no, it was real. He definitely said he loved me.

 

Those were the words I wanted to say so badly. But they came out of his mouth first. I thought everything was finally falling into place. He held my hand tightly, waiting for my reaction. I knew I had to say something.

 

"Yes."

 

He paused for a moment. He was probably wondering what kind of answer that was. I knew I should have said, "I love you too, Uncle," but I just couldn't. Instead, I closed my eyes.

 

His slightly rough hands moved to my shoulders. I felt like the protagonist of a romance movie. You know, like Vivien Leigh in the arms of Clark Gable against a red sunset in Gone with the Wind. Just as I felt my body being pulled toward him...

 

"Before I go back, I really wanted to... with you..."

His breath brushed against my face, and his voice echoed softly in my ear. What an ecstatic moment. Then, I felt something strange touch my lips. Startled, I tensed up my entire body. And in that instant—

 

"Agh!"

 

Splash!

 

He fell helplessly into the reservoir. I had pushed him right in the chest.

 

"Help! I can't swim!"

 

He was floundering in the water, but I stood there not knowing what to do.

Why did I do that? I really have no idea.

(The End)