It can be found everywhere. Every day I meet with her at the hospital, then at the store where she buys milk and bread, then at the bus stop. The only place in the village where it does not exist is a cemetery. She always dresses the same: on her feet - old shoes, a knitted hat on her head, a long skirt, almost to the heels and an indeterminate color, either a jacket or a short coat. She does not beg and does not bother with passers-by. Her walk is always confident, a step sweeping. So they walk when they know exactly where and why. Only occasionally does she stop the passer-by and, speaking a couple of phrases, walks on. You can not even determine with any degree of accuracy her age: a sunburnt, weather-beaten, somewhat coarse face, at which time women's fatigue and anxiety are scarcely perceptible. She talks quietly, almost in a whisper. She is never drunk. As it is usual in small settlements where everyone knows each other, she was given the nickname "Tanya beach".
About five years ago a young man walked around the village. It could also be found everywhere. In glasses with a "horny" frame "Director", in a gray, inconspicuous suit, a short, at first glance, nothing inconspicuous. And he had the nickname "star". Once he disappeared. Only this year I learned that it was her son. She lay in the hospital in the regional center, when he was gone. Only then she was shown the place where he was buried.
She was made into an old people's home, as usual. But in it she did not linger and again appeared in the village, settling in an abandoned shield hut.
For five years now this woman has been looking for her son.
And this morning I met her in my yard. And for the whole morning the hawk hovered above my house.
