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.