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The story is set in a hospital room for six in-patients – a patient with a fractured collarbone; a woman in her 50s with enteritis; a 60-something woman who developed anorexia following her husband’s death; Seon-ye, a long-term patient; and two senior citizens who have feeding tubes. Then there are their two caregivers for the sick – Yeong-sun and Mr. Kim – bringing the total number of occupants to eight. 

영순은 간병인이 아니라 환자가 되어 그 곳에 누워있는 자신의 모습을 상상했다.

의식이 없는 중증 환자나 회복할 가망이 없는 환자나

신체 일부가 훼손돼 불구로 살아야 할 환자가 아닌

세끼 밥을 맛있게 먹고 

낮에는 외출을 할 수 있을 만큼 건강한 환자라야 한다.

Yeong-sun imagined herself lying on that bed not as a caregiver, but as a patient. Not as someone in a coma or in an irreversible condition, or crippled for life, but as someone who is still well enough to enjoy three meals a day and go outside during the day. 

폭이 좁은 보조 침대가 아니라 시트가 깔린 병상이라면 

두 발을 쭉 펴고 그르렁거리는 소리에 잠을 깨는 일 없이

아침까지 곤히 잘 수 있을 것이다.

If she could sleep on a comfortable bed with a clean sheet instead of a narrow cot, she would sleep soundly until next morning without having to wake up to her charge’s phlegmy growl. 

병실 생활이 갑갑하고 무료하다고 해도 

영순은 석 달을 채우고 퇴원할 생각이었다.

Even if the hospital stay was stifling and tedious, she would leave only when the maximum three months are up, not a day before. 

병원 6인실이 비좁고 불편하다고 불평하는 환자들이 많았지만

늙은 남편과 아들이 있는 단칸방보다 못할 것이 없었다.

Many patients complained that the six-person occupancy room was too crowded and uncomfortable, but it was better than her tiny place with her old husband and son.

# Interview with SNU Korean literature professor Bang Min-ho

Having several insurance policies doesn’t exactly lead to a big compensation. It’s understandable why Yeong-sun wants to be a patient rather than a caregiver. Yeong-sun hopes that her husband isn’t dead or in serious condition, because if he is moderately injured, she could get compensated by her many insurances. Nobody wishes for such an accident unless you’re in a dire financial strait. Her situation shows one aspect of poverty in Korean society.  

짧은 순간, 강렬한 빛이 영순의 눈과 귀를 틀어막았다.

손에 들려 있던 휴대전화가 길바닥으로 떨어졌다.

영순은 거센 파도에 떠밀리듯 공중으로 높이 날아올랐다.

사람들과 자동차가 움직임을 멈추었고,

누군가 음소거 버튼을 누르기라도 한 듯 사방이 갑갑할 정도로 조용했다.

For a split second, a flashing light blinded her. Her cell phone was thrown on the pavement as Yeong-sun’s body flew high up in the air as if thrusted by a strong wave. People and vehicles stopped moving and stifling silence enveloped her as if somebody had pushed the mute button.

오토바이가 도로 한복판에 엎어져서 나뒹굴었다.

가볍게 떠올랐던 영순의 몸이 지상을 향해 추락했다.

 A motorcycle was lying on its side in the middle of the street. Yeong-sun’s lightly floating body started to fall toward the ground. 

영순은 이왕이면 남편과 같은 병원이면 좋겠다고 생각했다.

구급대원이 다가와서 영순의 몸을 들것에 옮겼다.

누군가의 손이 영순의 눈을 억지로 감겨주려고 했다.

영순은 순하게 눈을 감을 수 없었다.

잠이 쏟아졌다.

석 달 넘게 병원 보조 침대에서 토막잠을 자면 버텼던 영순은

두 눈을 동그랗게 뜬 채로 잠의 수렁으로 곤두박질쳤다.

Yeong-sun thought it would be nice to be in the same hospital as her husband. Paramedics came to lift her body up on the gurney. Somebody tried to close her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them. She suddenly felt so sleepy. Yeong-sun, who endured sleeping on the cot for more than three months, plunged headlong into a deep slumber with both her eyes wide open. 

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Seo Seong-ran (Born in Iksan, Jeollabuk-do Prov., 1967~ )

Debuted with “Grandmother’s Peace” in 1996