가즈오 이시구로, 『나를 보내지 마』

 

 

 'That was the only time, as I stood there, looking at that strange rubbish, feeling the wind coming across those empty fields, that I started to imagine just a little fantasy thing, because this was Norfolk after all, and it was only a couple of weeks since I’d lost him. I was thinking about the rubbish, the flapping plastic in the branches, the shore-line of odd stuff caught along the fencing, and I half-closed my eyes and imagined this was the spot where everything I'd ever lost since my childhood had washed up, and I was now standing here in front of it, and if I waited long enough, a tiny figure would appear on the horizon across the field, and gradually get larger until I'd see it was Tommy, and he'd wave, maybe even call. The fantasy never got beyond that --I didn't let it-- and though the tears rolled down my face, I wasn't sobbing or out of control. I just waited a bit, then turned back to the car, to drive off to wherever it was I was supposed to be.'

 

 

 

소설은 무의미하고 우연적인 인간의 경험들을 재배치하고 그에 수사를 덧붙인다. 때로 어떤 작품은 효과적인 재배치만으로 의미를 갖는다. 물리적으로 같은 시간 속에 있는 것이 분명한데도 끝도 없이 늘어지는 순간들이 있다. 이를테면 서늘해진 아침 바람을 맞고 섰을 때, 약속 시간에 늦은 친구가 저 멀리서 걸어오는 것을 바라보고 있을 때, 혹은 벤치에 앉아 한풀 꺾인 여름 저녁의 소리를 들을 때와 같이. 지난 여름, 가즈오 이시구로의 소설을 읽다 종종 그런 기분이 들곤 했다.