그 일은 잘못 걸려 온 전화로 시작되었다. 한밤중에 ...

그 일은 잘못 걸려 온 전화로 시작되었다. 한밤중에 전화벨이 세 번 울리고 나서 엉뚱한 사람을 찾는 목소리가 들려오는 것으로. 훨씬 나중에, 그러니까 자기에게 무슨 일들이 일어났는지를 생각해 볼 수 있게 되었을 때, 그는 우연 말고는 정말인 것이 아무것도 없다는 결론을 내리게 될 터였다. 하지만 그것은 훨씬 뒤의 일이다. 처음에는 단지 사건과 결과가 있었을 뿐이다. 그 일이 다르게 끝이 났건, 낯선 사람의 입에서 나온 첫마디로 미리 정해진 것이었건, 그것은 문제가 되지 않는다. 문제는 이야기 그 자체이며, 그것에 어떤 의미가 있느냐 없느냐는 여기서 할 이야기가 아니다. - <뉴욕 3부작>, 폴 오스터 / 황보석 옮김 - 밀리의 서재
https://www.millie.co.kr/v3/bookDetail/179563571 - P7

그는 1년 중 다섯 달이나 여섯 달 동안만 소설을 썼으므로 나머지 시간에는 자기가 하고 싶은 일을 얼마든지 마음대로 할 수 있었다. 이런 저런 책을 읽고 그림을 관람하고 영화를 보러 다니면서. 여름이면 그는 텔레비전으로 방영되는 야구 경기를 지켜보았고 겨울에는 오페라를 보러 갔다. 하지만 그가 무엇보다도 좋아한 것은 걷는 일이었다. 거의 매일같이, 날씨가 궂건 좋건, 춥건 덥건, 그는 아파트를 나서서 시내를 이리저리 돌아다니곤 했다. ─ 사실은 어디를 찾아가려는 것이 아니라, 그저 어디든 발길 닿는 대로. - <뉴욕 3부작>, 폴 오스터 / 황보석 옮김 - 밀리의 서재
https://www.millie.co.kr/v3/bookDetail/179563571 - P8

Printed, rather Cartier-forma...

Printed, rather Cartier-formal, it read: Miss Holiday Golightly; and, underneath, in the corner, Travelling. It nagged me like a tune: Miss Holiday Golightly, Travelling. - P13

I went out into the hall and leaned over the banister, just enough to see without being seen. She was still on the stairs, now she reached the landing, and the ragbag colours of her boy‘s hair, tawny streaks, strands of albino-blond and yellow, caught the hall light. It was a warm evening, nearly summer, and she wore a slim cool black dress, black sandals, a pearl choker. For all her chic thinness, she had an almost breakfast-cereal air of health, a soap and lemon cleanness, a rough pink darkening in the cheeks. Her mouth was large, her nose upturned. A pair of dark glasses blotted out her eyes. It was a face beyond childhood, yet this side of belonging to a woman. I thought her anywhere between sixteen and thirty; as it turned out, she was shy two months of her nineteenth birthday. - P15

He fingered a leaf, as though...

He fingered a leaf, as though uncertain of how to answer. A small man with a fine head of coarse white hair, he has a bony, sloping face better suited to someone far taller; his complexion seems permanently sunburned: now it grew even redder. ‘I can‘t say exactly heard from her. I mean, I don‘t know. That‘s why I want your opinion. Let me build you a drink. Something new. They call it a White Angel,‘ he said, mixing one-half vodka, one-half gin, no vermouth.
While I drank the result, Joe Bell stood
sucking on a Tums and turning over in his mind what he had to tell me. Then: ‘You recall a certain Mr I. Y. Yunioshi? A gentleman from Japan.‘
(6/130p) - P6

He considered a moment. ‘No,‘ he said, and shook his head. ‘I‘ll tell you why. If she was in this city I‘d have seen her. You take a man that likes to walk, a man like me, a man‘s been walking in the streets going on ten or twelve years, and all those years he‘s got his eye out for one person, and nobody‘s ever her, don‘t it stand to reason she‘s not there? I see pieces of her all the time, a flat little bottom, any skinny girl that walks fast and straight- He paused, as though too aware of how intently I was looking at him. - P11

I know she‘s still there because I went up the steps and looked at the mailboxes. It was one of these mailboxes that had first made me aware of Holly Golightly. - P13

[오늘의 한문장] 작별하지 않는다

성근 눈이 내리고 있었다.
내가 서 있는 벌판의 한쪽 끝은 야트막한 산으로 이어져 있었는데, 등성이에서부터 이편 아래쪽까지 수천 그루의 검은 통나무들이 심겨 있었다. 여러 연령대의 사람들처럼 조금씩 다른 키에, 철길 침목 정도의 굵기를 가진 나무들이었다. 하지만 침목처럼 곧지 않고 조금씩 기울거나 휘어 있어서, 마치 수천 명의 남녀들과 야윈 아이들이 어깨를 웅크린 채 눈을 맞고 있는 것 같았다.
묘지가 여기 있었나, 나는 생각했다.
이 나무들이 다 묘비인가.

-알라딘 eBook <작별하지 않는다> (한강 지음) 중에서 - P7

Guided by a compact mirror, s...

Guided by a compact mirror, she powdered, painted every vestige of twelve-year-old out of her face. She shaped her lips with one tube, coloured her cheeks from another. She pencilled the rims of her eyes, blued the lids, sprinkled her neck with 4711; attached pearls to her ears and donned her dark glasses; thus armoured, and after a displeased appraisal of her manicure‘s shabby condition, she ripped open the letter and let her eyes race through it while her stony small smile grew smaller and harder. - P116

Holly, however, did not want to admit that she saw; yet her face, despite its cosmetic disguise, confessed it. ‘All right, he‘s not a rat without reason. A super-sized, King Kong type rat like Rusty. Benny Shacklett. But oh gee, golly goddamn,‘ she said, jamming a fist into her mouth like a bawling baby, ‘I did love him. The rat.‘ - P117

‘Just what kind of pills have they been feeding you here? Can‘t you realize, you‘re under a criminal indictment. If they catch you jumping bail, they‘ll throw away the key. Even if you get away with it, you‘ll never be able to come home.‘ - P119

‘Well, so, tough titty. Anyway, home is where you feel at home. I‘m still looking.‘ - P119

She was impressed, however; her eyes were dilated by unhappy visions, as were mine: iron rooms, steel corridors of gradually closing doors. - P120

Certain shades of limelight wreck a girl‘s complexion. - P121

Even if a jury gave me the Purple Heart, this neighbourhood holds no future. - P121

Uh, uh, I don‘t just fancy a fade-out that finds me belly-bumping around Roseland with a pack of West Side Hillbillies. - P121

The sky was red Friday night, it thundered, and Saturday, departing day, the city swayed in a squall-like downpour. Sharks might have swum through the air, though it seemed improbable a plane could penetrate it. - P122

Never mind why, but once I walked from New Orleans to Nancy‘s Landing, Mississippi, just under five hundred miles. It was a light-hearted lark compared to the journey to Joe Bell‘s bar. The guitar filled with rain, rain softened the paper sacks, the sacks split and perfume spilled on the pavement, pearls rolled in the gutter: while the wind pushed and the cat scratched, the cat screamed - but worse, I was frightened, a coward to equal José: those storming streets seemed aswarm with unseen presences waiting to trap, imprison me for aiding an outlaw. - P124

The more she cajoled him (Ah, Mr Bell. The lady doesn‘t vanish every day. Won‘t you toast her?‘), the gruffer he was: ‘I‘ll have no part of it. If you‘re going to hell, you‘ll go on your own. With no further help from me.‘ - P125

Holly stripped off her clothes, the riding costume she‘d never had a chance to substitute, and struggled into a slim black dress. - P126

I was stunned. ‘Well, you are. You are a bitch.‘
We‘d travelled a block before she replied. ‘I told you. We just met by the river one day: that‘s all. Independents, both of us. We never made each other any promises. We never -‘ she said, and her voice collapsed, a tic, an invalid whiteness seized her face. The car had paused for a traffic light. Then she had the door open, she was running down the street; and I ran after her. - P127

and she shuddered, she had to grip my arm to stand up: ‘Oh, Jesus God. We did belong to each other. He was mine."
Then I made her a promise, I said I‘d come back and find her cat: ‘I‘ll take care of him, too. I promise.‘ - P128

She smiled: that cheerless new pinch of a smile.
‘But what about me?‘ she said, whispered, and shivered again. ‘I‘m very scared, Buster. Yes, at last. Because it could go on for ever. Not knowing what‘s yours until you‘ve thrown it away. The mean reds, they‘re nothing. The fat woman, she nothing. This, though: my mouth‘s so dry, if my life dependedon it I couldn‘t spit.‘ She stepped in the car, sank in the seat. ‘Sorry, driver. Let‘s go.‘ - P128

But in the spring a postcard came: it was scribbled in pencil, and signed with a lipstick kiss: ‘Brazil was beastly but Buenos Aires the best. Not Tiffany‘s, but almost. Am joined at the hip with duhvine Señor. Love? Think so. Anyhoo am looking for somewhere to live (Señor has wife, 7 brats) andwill let you know address when I know it myself. Mille tendresses.‘ But the address, if it ever existed, never was sent, which made me sad, there was so much I wanted to write her: that I‘d sold two stories, had read where the Trawlers were counter-suing for divorce, was moving out of the brownstone because it was haunted. - P130

But mostly, I wanted to tell about her cat. I had kept my promise; I had found him. It took weeks of after-work roaming through those Spanish Harlem streets, and there were many false alarms - flashes of tiger-striped fur that, upon inspection, were not him. But one day, one cold sunshiny Sunday winter afternoon, it was. Flanked by potted plants and framed by clean lace curtains, he was seated in the window of a warm-looking room: I wondered what his name was, for I was certain he had one now, certain he‘d arrived somewhere he belonged. African hut or whatever, I hope Holly has, too. - P130