The Mysterious Woman in Red
It must have been sometime in the latter part of spring, for I remember wearing a lightweight spring coat. Beggars congregated around Maidan Ferdowsi, huddling against the buildings, for there was a hotel and stores where the well-off population shopped and frequented. At that spot, the beggars had a better chance of receiving generous alms from the affluent crowds.
As I walked by, I noticed a group of well-dressed men surrounding a woman sitting on a blanket on the sidewalk. They seemed to be standing around her in an almost respectful manner. They did not look down at her. They seemed rather puzzled, almost quizzical. Curious, I turned to look at her.
The woman sitting there did not resemble any beggar I had ever encountered. The first thing I noticed was that she was clean. Her eyes were bright and intelligent. She did not lower her glance as she asked for alms. Actually she did not even ask for alms! She had placed a brass bowl by her side. She was dressed in red. Her dress was red, as were her shoes. A scarf was wrapped around her shoulders for warmth. Her clothing, although worn, was clean and of an expensive cut. She carried a worn leather handbag. Her hair was tastefully arranged, clean and shining. It was not covered with a headscarf, unlike the other beggars lining the walls. They were filthy with dull, matted hair that most likely crawled with lice.
Her face was lightly and tastefully made up. Clearly she was not a common beggar by any means! She was attractive and carried herself with dignity. One of the men bent down and offered her money. With a smile on her face, and a nod of thanks, she inclined her head to her bowl. She did not stretch her hand to take the money, as if it was beneath her dignity to do so. Some of the men respectfully asked her questions as to her circumstances, but she just smiled a pained mysterious smile and did not speak. The men kept plying her with questions. She did not answer.
I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable on her behalf. She was obviously a more refined person. I wondered what circumstances had brought her to this day? Obviously she had fallen upon hard times in a most tragic way. As I walked away from her and the curious men surrounding her, I wondered what dire event led her to this. Had her family died tragically and left her with no one to care for her? She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old, not much older than I was then. Had she fallen in with a bad crowd which made her family disown her? No! No parent would do that! She was their daughter, their flesh and blood, part of their soul. Whichever way I tried to figure it out, it made no sense.
Maybe she ran away from the strict discipline of being a young female in a good Middle Eastern family? Maybe once she experienced being on the street for a few days and nights, she would return home with her tail between her legs. Maybe, maybe, maybe…
All these many years later, a whole lifetime later, I still find myself puzzling about the circumstances of the young woman dressed in red… I wondered if someone had felt some pity for her and took her in and cared for her. I fervently hope so.