Thursday, October 22, 2009

시어머니의 팔뚝

엄마 팔뚝 봐. 너의 두 배는 넘겠다.”

LA에서 온 시어머니가 팔을 걷어붙이고 집안일을 도와주는 것을 보더니, 남편이 철없이 한마디 한다. 시어머니는 가는 팔뚝을 슬쩍 본 후 거북이 같은 손으로 입을 가리며 수줍어한다.  

함경도 함흥 출신 시어머니는 시아버님이 젊은 시절부터 외국에 나가셔 시할머니 모시고 아이 다섯을 키우느라 무진 고생을 했. 오죽하면 미국 이민 절차를 밟으면서 찍은 지문이 선명하게 나오지 않았으니. 다시 찍으러 갈 때마다, 직원이 돌려 보내며 당분간 빨래를 하지 말라고까지 했단다. 물론 세탁기가 없던 70년대 이야기다.

시어머니는 우리 집에 들어서기 무섭게 부엌 있는 냄비란 냄비는 모두 꺼내 놓고 닦기 시작한다
이것 봐라. 스테인레스는 닦으면 닦을수록 새것처럼 광이 난다. 옛날엔 구멍 양은 냄비를 때워 쓰곤 했다.”
반짝거리는 냄비를 들어 보이며 환하게 웃는다

눈에 보이는 곳, 내가 앉을 자리만 열심히 닦는 나와는 달리 
"구석 청소를 잘해야 집안이 깨끗하다"
쓰다 팽개친 붓으로 구석구석에 쌓인 먼지를 끌어내어 쓸고 닦는다화장실 변기와 욕조 그리고 싱크대에 클로락스를 발라 놓고 기다렸다가 윤이 나게도 한다.

장에 가서 가자미를 사다 소금에 절이고 좁쌀밥을 넣고 삭 자미에 무채를 넣어 식혜도 담근다. 비 오는 날을 기다렸다가 빗물을 받아 빨래도 한시어머니의 일은 끝이 없이 이어진다.
빨래는 빗물에 빨아 방망이로 두들겨야 하얘진다.”
방망이를 찾지만 있을 리 없다
뉴욕은 비가 자주 와서 얼마나 좋냐. 빗물에 차를 닦으면 광이 나는데.” 
밖에 세워 놓은 차를 닦고 싶은 걸 참으며 오는 창밖을 내다보며 쉬는 것이 고작이다

없는 부엌살림을 보고 프라이팬도 주전자도 그리고 마이크로 오븐도 사줬다. 이렇게 아들 집에 와서 일하다 보면 일주일이 훌쩍 지나고 LA 돌아갈 때가 된다시어머니에게 콧바람이라도 씌어 드리려고 센츄럴 파크 모시고 갔다. 시어머니는 벤치에 앉아 쉬지 않고, 냉이를 찾아 두리번거린다저녁에 된장찌개에 냉이를 넣고 끓이자며.

이웃 사람들이 인사라도 할라치면 한 손으로 입을 가리고 ‘No English’ 말하곤 다른 한 손으론 손을 잡는다. 시어머니와 나는 어느 때부터인가 집 밖을 나서기 무섭게 손을 잡고 다니는 습관이 생겼다.

아들 집에 와서 힘들게 일하고도  오시겠다니 내 손을 잡고 싶으신가 보다.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Mother-in-law's forearm

"Look at Mom’s arms. They’re more than twice the size of yours."
My husband said this without thinking when he saw his mother, who came from LA, rolling up her sleeves and helping with the housework. My mother-in-law looked at my thin arms and shyly covered her mouth with her rough, turtle-like hands.

She is from Hamhung, in North Korea. Since my father-in-law went abroad when he was young, she raised five children alone while caring for her mother-in-law. Life was very hard for her. When she applied for a U.S. visa, her fingerprints didn’t come out clearly. The staff even told her to stop hand-washing clothes for a while and come back later. That was in the early 1970s, when she had no washing machine.

As soon as she enters our home, she goes to the kitchen and starts cleaning every pot and pan.
“Look at this. The more you scrub stainless steel, the shinier it gets. Back then, we used to fix holes in aluminum pots and keep using them.”
She holds up a sparkling pot and smiles brightly.

Unlike me—who only cleans the spots people can see or where I sit—
she says, “The corners must be clean for the whole house to feel clean.”
She takes an old brush and scrubs out dust from every corner.
She puts bleach on the toilet, the bathtub, and the sink, waits, then wipes everything until it shines.

She goes to the market, buys flounders, salts them, and prepares fermented fish with radish and millet rice. When it rains, she collects rainwater to wash white laundry. Her work never seems to end.
“You must use rainwater and beat the laundry with a stick to make it truly white,” she says.
She looks for a laundry stick, but of course, we don’t have one.
She says, “It’s nice that it rains often in New York. Rainwater makes your car shine too.”
She looks out the window, holding back the urge to go outside and wash the car in the rain.

She saw our small kitchen and bought us a frying pan, a kettle, and even a microwave. After working hard all week at her son’s house, it’s time for her to return to LA. Before she left, I wanted to give her a break, so I took her to Central Park. She didn’t sit and rest on the bench. Instead, she looked around for wild herbs called naengi (shepherd’s purse).
“Let’s put these in doenjang-jjigae (soybean stew) for dinner,” she said.

When neighbors tried to greet her, she would cover her mouth with one hand and say, “No English,” while holding my hand tightly with the other. At some point, we started holding hands every time we stepped out of the house. Even after all the hard work at our place, she still wants to come again. Maybe… she just wants to hold my hand.