That afternoon, she stepped across the threshold of the hut, turned left, then meandered through the deserted street. Under a clouded sky, the gentle breeze played with her shawl draped over her back. She appeared to walk like the wind, disappearing around a bend as drizzle started to dampen the dusty road.
That was the last time anyone saw her, several years ago. Years later, people only heard her name when exchanging stories from uncertain sources. Her story was as elusive as her name.
According to these stories, her figure was sometimes glimpsed in a far-off place. This figure also appeared in different locations, just momentarily, then vanished, leaving no trace until someone recognized her, somewhere. She sometimes appeared among familiar faces, but was often hidden among a crowd of strangers.
However, these vague tales had their own common thread. Her figure would always appear where people died. She was always spotted, albeit vaguely, among those mourning, slipping into the row of people offering prayers for the deceased, or standing solemnly witnessing the burial of a corpse. But her appearances were always shadowy. Hardly anyone knew where she came from or where she disappeared to. What many people began to realize was this: there was always a strange woman at almost every death.
If these elusive stories were pieced together, first of all, the fleeting figure of this woman was frequently seen everywhere. She was always on the move, walking like the wind, and no one ever knew where she was headed. But she always stopped where someone had died. It didn’t matter if she knew the deceased or their family or not. It didn’t matter if the deceased was good or evil. It didn’t matter if the one who died there was an influential figure, a holy person, or a vagrant. It didn’t matter whether many mourned or no one cared to honor the death.
Then, there at those places of death, she bore witness. Just before the deceased was prayed over and taken to the cemetery, there was usually a family member or representative who asked the mourners to testify that the departed was a good person and thus deserved a place in heaven. And in such moments, her figure would appear as one of the people giving testimony; a testimony that the deceased was good in their life—even though, in reality, this was not always the case.
A vague story tells that one day she appeared as the third mourner. There were only three mourners outside the family of the deceased. It seemed that no one cared to mourn. Neighbors pretended to be busy with their own work, then quietly left the house until the corpse was buried.
Apparently, the deceased was known as societal scum. He was a stinky bastard. Robbing and mugging were his skills. Causing trouble was his hobby. In people’s eyes, he was an enormous sinner. That’s why no one mourned his death. His death was a relief for many.
But there she was, the silhouette-like figure, present as the third mourner. The family of the deceased was surprised to see a strange woman, unknown to them, paying her respects.
“Did you know him?” a family member of the deceased finally asked.
“Yes, I knew him as a good person,” she answered.