눈을 치우며

 

눈을 치우며

 

어제 하루 하늘이 낮게 가라 앉더니, 아니나 다를까 오후 늦게부터 눈발이 날리기 시작했습니다.

어제부터 내리던 눈은 오늘 아침 자리에서 일어나 커튼을 젖히고 밖을 내다 볼 때까지도 내리고 있었습니다.

눈이 내리는 바깥 세상은 그야말로 동화속 세상입니다. 그리고 평등하게 아름답습니다.

그런데 미국에 이민 와서, 더군다나 시내에서 좀 떨어진 교외로 이사를 한 후로는 눈은 낭만과는 거리가 먼 골칫거리가 되었습니다.

제 직장이 있는 브루클린까지 50 Km 남짓 운전을 해서 출근을 하는 일이며,

한 없이 느려터진 차량들의 꼬리를 물고 집에 돌아오는 길은 또 얼마나 더디고 지리하며 긴장되는지 모릅니다.

일터에서 출발할 때 듣기 시작한 노래 CD를 바꿀 여유도 없이,

운전대를 꼭 부여 잡고 같은 노래를 세 번씩이나 꼬박 들어야 할 때도 있으니 말입니다.

게다가 우리 집 drive way에 쌓인 눈을 치우는 일을 감당해야 하는 가장으로서의 책무는 쌓이는 눈의 두께에 비례해서 더욱 더 무거워지기 때문입니다.

마침 주일이기에 일터로 가야하는 부담이 없어서인지 오랜 만에 창 밖에 내리는 눈을 여유롭게 바라볼 수 있었습니다.

그러면서 자연스레 제 생각은 날개를 달고 시간을 거슬러 이리 저리 여행을 떠났습니다.

30여년 전, 우리집에 연탄 보일러가 있었는데 연탄을 갈고 연탄재를 치우는 등의 모든 일이 아버지의 몫이었습니다.

집 밖에 보일러가 있었기에 눈이 오거나 얼음이 꽁꽁 어는 날 새벽에

가스를 마셔가며 연탄을 갈고 재를 치우시는 아버지의 모습이 눈 내리는 창 너머의 풍경으로 비쳐집니다.

잔뜩 웅크린 모습입니다.

아버지 곁엔 아무도 없습니다.

차가운 겨울 날씨에 나는 아마도 따뜻한 구들장을 지고 한껏 게으름을 즐기고 있었을 테니까요.

나는 겨울 내내 집 안에서 추위를 느끼지 않고 지낼 수 있음의 연유를 한 번도 생각해본 적이 없는 그런 아들이었고,

아버지는 당연히 그 일을 해야 하는 사람이셨습니다.

몇 해 전, 지금은 대학생이 된 큰 아들이 고등학교에 다니던

 1월의 어느 주일 아침도 오늘처럼 그렇게 눈이 내린 적이 있었습니다.

밤 새 내린 눈은 발목을 넘어 무릎 중간까지는 족히 쌓여 있음직 했습니다

그 많은 눈을 치우기에는 내 혼자 힘으로는 어림도 없겠다는 생각에 심적으로는 적잖은 부담이 되긴 했어도,

코 밑에 수염이 까뭇까뭇 자라기 시작한 큰 아들 때문에 제법 안심이 되었습니다.

그런데 막상 눈이 그치고 제설작업을 시작하려고 눈삽을 챙기며 아들을 찾으니,

아들은 옷을 다 챙겨 입고 모자에 장갑까지 낀 채로 어느새 눈삽까지 챙겨서 어깨에 메고 있었습니다.

총 대신에 눈삽을 멘 아들의 모습은 군장 검사를 마치고 출전 준비를 끝낸 군인처럼 늠름한 모습이었습니다.

아빠를 도와 눈을 치우려는 아들의 모습을 보니 얼마나 기특하고 대견스럽던지요.

아들 키운 보람이 있다는 말은 꼭 이런 경우를 두고 만들어진 것 같았습니다.

그런데 그런 운 좋은 생각은 잠깐이었고, 모든 흐뭇했던 감정들이 산산 조각나며 눈속으로 처박히고 말았습니다.

큰 아들 녀석은 친구들과 같이 다른 집 눈을 치우기로 약속이 다 되어 있었던 겁니다.

그렇게 휑하니 떠나가는 아들의 뒷 모습을 바라보며 맥이 쭈욱 빠졌습니다.

그 넓은 driveway를 혼자 치워야 한다는, 가장의 비애라면 너무 신파조가 되는지 몰라도 하여간 비장감마저 들었습니다.

“그래 할 수 있어, 내 혼자 하고 말고-----“ 뭐 이런 식으로 스스로를 격려해가며 눈삽으로 눈을 뜨기 시작했습니다.

 

30 여년 전 아버지는 새벽에 혼자 일어나셔서 매선 바람과 연탄가스를 마시며 연탄을 가셨습니다.

몸이 편찮으실 때에도 아무 말씀도 없이 마치 그 일이 자신의 운명이기나 한 것처럼, 아니면 신앙이나 되는 것처럼 그 일을 하셨습니다.

혼자 눈을 치우며, 아빠를 돌아보지도 않고 친구와의 약속 장소로 서둘러 발걸음을 재촉하던 아들의 뒷 모습을 보면서,

그 옛날 혼자 연탄불을 가시던 아버지의 마음을 조금은 읽을 수 있었습니다.

몸살로 몸이 불편하실 때, 이젠 지금의 제 아들 나이 또래였던 큰 아들이 대신 연탄불을 갈아주었으면 하는 바램이 왜 없으셨겠습니까?

그런데도 아버지는 아무 말씀도 없이 그 일을 계속하셨습니다.

대학을 졸업할 때까지도 저는 연탄불 한 번 갈아본 일이 없는 그런 아들이었습니다.

그리고 군대를 갔다오고, 이민와서 아이들을 낳고 키우며 제 아들이 콧수염이 나기 시작한 그제서야 아버지 마음의 한 자락을 만질 수 있게 되었습니다.

 

속옷은 물론 겉에 입은 옷이 다 젖을 정도로 땀을 쏟은 후에야 driveway가 훤해졌습니다.

점심식사 시간이 다 되어서야 큰 아들은 개선장군처럼 당당하게 돌아왔습니다.

그리고 눈을 치워서 번 돈 50불을 무슨 전리품이나 되는 것처럼 제 눈 앞에 자랑스럽게 펼쳐보이는 것이었습니다.

 

오늘은 아버지의 마음과 내 마음의 거리를 채우기라도 하듯이 눈이 내리고 있습니다.

그리고 한 30년 쯤 뒤에 나의 마음과 큰 아들의 마음을 이어줄 흰 눈이 평등하게 내리고 있습니다.

 

Yesterday, as the day sank low in the sky, late in the afternoon, snowflakes began to fall. The snow that had been falling since yesterday continued to cover the ground even when I woke up this morning and looked outside after opening the curtains. The world outside, covered in falling snow, is truly a world from a fairy tale and is beautifully equal. However, since immigrating to the United States, especially after moving to the suburban area a bit away from the city, snow has become a serious challenge rather than a romantic experience.

 

Commute to my workplace in Brooklyn, about more than 30 miles away, involves driving through endlessly slow-moving traffic, and the journey back home is slow, tedious, and tense, with the tails of cars stretched out. There is no time to change the CD playing when starting the journey at work, and sometimes I have to listen to the same songs in a same CD three times in a row, tightly gripping the steering wheel. Additionally, as the one responsible for clearing the snow piled up in our driveway, the duty becomes heavier in proportion to the thickness of the accumulating snow.

Fortunately, it being a Sunday meant there was no burden of going to work, allowing me to leisurely gaze at the falling snow outside the window after a long time. While doing so, my thoughts naturally spread wings and traveled here and there through time.

 

About 30 years ago, our house had a coa(briquet)l boiler, and every task, including changing briquet and clearing ash, was my father's responsibility. Because the boiler was outside the house, on cold days with snow or freezing ice, the sight of my father, stooped over, breathing in carbon dioxide while changimg briquet and clearing ash, is reflected in the landscape beyond the snowfalling window. It's a heavily hunched figure. There is no one beside my father. On a cold winter day, I, probably warm and lazy with a heated ondol, might have been enjoying myself. I, who never thought about the reason for being able to spend the entire winter inside without feeling cold, and my father, who naturally was the one who had to do the work.

 

A few years ago, when my eldest son, now a university student, was in high school, there was a morning in January when snow fell like today. The snow that fell all night was piled up knee-deep, at least, making it impossible for me to clear it alone. Despite feeling some psychological burden, the sight of my eldest son, with a budding beard under his nose, reassured me. However, when the snow stopped and I started the snow removal, my son, fully dressed, wearing a hat and gloves, had already taken a snow shovel and was carrying it on his shoulder. The figure of my son, carrying a snow shovel instead of a rifle, was a dignified appearance as if a military officer had finished preparing for battle. Looking at my son's figure, helping to clear the snow, I realized how admirable and impressive it was to raise a son. However, that fortunate thought was short-lived, and all the pleasant emotions shattered and pressed into the snow.

 

My eldest son had already made an appointment to clear the snow with friends at another house. Looking at the back of my son leaving so blankly, my energy drained away. The fact that I had to clear the wide driveway alone, the tragedy of the head of the household, became overly sentimental, perhaps even a melodramatic tragedy. "Yes, I can do it alone, whether I like it or not—" comforting myself in this way, I began to open my eyes to the snow with a snow shovel.

 

About 30 years ago, my father got up alone in the early morning, breathing in caabon dioxide and facing the wind, and went to changing briquet. Even when he was unwell, he never said a word, as if that work were his destiny or as if it were a matter of faith. Clearing the snow alone, without even turning back to look at my father, he hurriedly walked to the meeting place with friends, and looking at the back of my son, who urged his steps without saying anything, I could somewhat understand my father's heart from that old time. Even when my father was unwell, why wasn't there a wish that his son, who is now the same age as my present son, would replace him in changing briquet? Nevertheless, my father continued the work without saying a word. Until I graduated from college, I had never even once changing briquet.

And now, after going to the military, immigrating, raising children, and my son starting to grow a beard, I finally became able to touch a small part of my father's heart.

The driveway became clear only after pouring out sweat to the point where both underwear and outer clothes were soaked. Only after the lunchtime passed did my eldest son confidently return like a victorious general. And now, clearing the snow and proudly displaying the hard-earned $50 in front of my eyes like some loot.

 

Today, as if to fill the gap between my father's heart and my heart, snow is falling. And about 30 years later, the white snow is falling equally, connecting my heart and my eldest son's heart.