일요일 밤 서점에서 보낸 두시간과 우연히 집어든 (어째서 지금까지 내 눈에 띄지를 않은 걸까 의아한) 이 책이 어느 정도의 회복에 한 몫했다.
Tim Burton의 감성이라니... 이런 감성과 상상력을 지닌 사람이 나같이 무미건조한 사람들의 집단으로부터 완전히 미친놈 취급받지 않고 그럭저럭 이 행성에서 살아가고 있다는 사실이 참 새삼스럽다. 우리는 생각보다는 '다양성'을 잘 받아들이나보다. 하지만, 아무래도 그또한 나름의 절망과 우울함을 어찌어찌 굴 소년을 생각하며 버텨가고 있을 것도 같긴 하다.
우울한 그 날에는 굴소년을 상기하자!
굴 소년의 우울한 죽음 내용이 궁금하신 분은 여기에...
more..
The melancholy death of Oyster Boy
He proposed in the dunes,
they were wed by the sea,
their nine-day honeymoon
was on the isle of Capri.
For their supper they had one spectacular dish-
a simmering stew of mollusks and fish.
And while he savored the broth,
her bride's heart made a wish.
That wish did come true - she gave birth to a baby.
But was this little one human?
Well,
maybe.
Ten fingers, ten toes,
he had plumbing and sight.
He could hear, he could feel,
but normal?
Not quite.
This unnatural birth, this canker, this blight,
was the start and the end and the sum of their plight.
she riled at the doctor:
"He cannot be mine.
He smells of the ocean, of seaweed and brine."
"You should count yourself lucky, for only last week,
I treated a girl with three ears and a beak
That your son is half oyster
You cannot blame me.
... have yoㅕ considered, by chance,
a small home by the sea?"
Not knowing what to name him,
they just called him Sam,
or, sometimes,
"that thing that looks like a clam."
Everyone wondered, but no one could tell,
When would young Oyster Boy come out of his shell?
When the Thompson quadruplets espied him one day,
they called him a bivalve and ran quickly away.
One spring afternoon,
Sam was left in the rain
At the southwestern corner of Seaview and Main,
he watched the rain water as it swirled
down the drain.
His mom on the freeway
in the breakdown lane
was pounding the dashboard-
she couldn't contain
the ever-rising grief,
frustration,
and pain.
"Really, sweetheart," she said,
"I don't mean to make fun,
but something smells fishy
and I think it's our son.
I don't like to say this, but it must be said,
you're blaming our son for your problems in bed."
He tried salves, he tried ointments
that turned everything red.
he tried potions and lotions
and tincture of lead.
He ahced and he itched and he twtitched and he bled
The doctor diagnosed,
"I can't be quite sure,
but the cause of the problem may also be the cure.
They say oysters improve your sexual powers.
perhaps eating your son
would help you do it for hours!"
He came on tiptoe,
he came on the sly,
sweat on his forehead,
and on his lips-a lie.
"Son, are you happy? I don't mean to pry,
but do you dream of heaven?
Have you wanted to die?"
Sam blinked his eyes twice.
but made no reply.
Dad fingered his knife and loosened his tie.
As he picked up his son,
Sam dripped on his coat.
With the shell to his lips,
Sam slipped down his throat.
They buried him quickly in the samd by the sea
- sighed a prayer, wept a tear -
and were back home by three.
A corss of gray driftwood marked Oyster Boy's grave.
Words writ in the sand
promised Jesus would save.
But his memory was lost with one high-tide wave.
Back home safe in bed,
he kissed her and said,
"Let's give it a whirl."
"But this time," she whispered, "we'll wish for a girl."
