What is a Durga?
— Forgive me, Fleur, but I really can't think today! Anemo says, taking his mug of coffee with whipped cream in one hand and beginning to pace the lawn with large, barefoot steps.
— I believe you, sir! Your Mother Lady is... a different kind of whirlwind; she brings order and...
— A whirlwind, you say? She’s the Great Chaos Tamer... she wouldn't have even needed a whole team to clean up! Anemo continues, looking toward the window where his mother’s silhouette moved with unreal speed. She’s like a Durga of cleaning, Fleur. You get the impression she has ten arms multiplying in the air: with one she's dusting, with another she's sorting bills, with a third she's guiding my life, and with the remaining seven she's driving away any trace of inspiration from this house.
Gathered for a council in the flower bed, the three furry friends—the kittens and the recently rescued from the "clutches of pest control," Aeolus—watched their master, who seemed determined to get his daily steps in on the lawn.
— Aeolus... what is a durga? Did the Mother Lady bring some sophis-phis... uh, sophisficated machine that cleans?
Mistral snorted, pricking up his black ears with an air of absolute superiority:
— Mon Dieu, little one, such lack of culture! Durga is a goddess from the East. She has ten arms, do you understand? Ten!
Sirocco froze, trying to visualize the image. His eyes squinted like two coffee beans:
— Ten-ten arms? Well... does that mean she can pet us all at once? And still hold the bags of kibble? And sweep with the broom too?
— It means, ginger one, Aeolus intervened from somewhere among the hyacinths, that there is nowhere to hide. If a woman with two hands found us in five minutes, one with ten hands would find us even in our thoughts. She is a cosmic force of order. Where she passes, dust dies and bohemian life surrenders.
— Ten arms... Sirocco murmured, looking with horror toward the window where Aura seemed to multiply in the reflection of the freshly polished glass.
— Ten arms... and what if she has a broom in each hand? Sirocco whined, trembling from every ginger whisker. If Anemo told her about the liver, she'll sweep us straight to the museum!
— Don't be absurd, little one, Mistral tried to sound calm, though his tail betrayed the agitation of a turbulent wind. A goddess doesn't use ordinary brooms. She wields swords of order and spears of discipline! If she gives us away, our lives as artists are over. We’ll become couch accessories. She’ll wash us with lavender shampoo until we forget our own names!
Aeolus, looking smaller and smaller, added with his thin, trembling voice:
— I read about it... Durga rides a lion. What if Mrs. Aura decides we are the "beasts" that must be tamed because we stole dinner? She’ll put us on the galleys of cleaning!
Sirocco covered his eyes with his paws:
— Are galleys some kind of grades you earn when you’re the best at "cleantistry"? I don't want to be brushed with ten hands at once! It’s too much forced pampering... and if she gives us away, we won't...
Mistral looked toward Aura, who was shaking out his precious velvet pillow with atomic energy.— C’est la fin du monde... Look at her! She’s not even sweating. She moves as if she’s dancing a dance of crumb destruction. If Anemo forgives us this time and doesn't give us away... I solemnly promise to accept the tufted one and become the most inspirational cat ever!
— I believe you, sir! Your Mother Lady is... a different kind of whirlwind; she brings order and...
— A whirlwind, you say? She’s the Great Chaos Tamer... she wouldn't have even needed a whole team to clean up! Anemo continues, looking toward the window where his mother’s silhouette moved with unreal speed. She’s like a Durga of cleaning, Fleur. You get the impression she has ten arms multiplying in the air: with one she's dusting, with another she's sorting bills, with a third she's guiding my life, and with the remaining seven she's driving away any trace of inspiration from this house.
Gathered for a council in the flower bed, the three furry friends—the kittens and the recently rescued from the "clutches of pest control," Aeolus—watched their master, who seemed determined to get his daily steps in on the lawn.
— Aeolus... what is a durga? Did the Mother Lady bring some sophis-phis... uh, sophisficated machine that cleans?
Mistral snorted, pricking up his black ears with an air of absolute superiority:
— Mon Dieu, little one, such lack of culture! Durga is a goddess from the East. She has ten arms, do you understand? Ten!
Sirocco froze, trying to visualize the image. His eyes squinted like two coffee beans:
— Ten-ten arms? Well... does that mean she can pet us all at once? And still hold the bags of kibble? And sweep with the broom too?
— It means, ginger one, Aeolus intervened from somewhere among the hyacinths, that there is nowhere to hide. If a woman with two hands found us in five minutes, one with ten hands would find us even in our thoughts. She is a cosmic force of order. Where she passes, dust dies and bohemian life surrenders.
— Ten arms... Sirocco murmured, looking with horror toward the window where Aura seemed to multiply in the reflection of the freshly polished glass.
— Ten arms... and what if she has a broom in each hand? Sirocco whined, trembling from every ginger whisker. If Anemo told her about the liver, she'll sweep us straight to the museum!
— Don't be absurd, little one, Mistral tried to sound calm, though his tail betrayed the agitation of a turbulent wind. A goddess doesn't use ordinary brooms. She wields swords of order and spears of discipline! If she gives us away, our lives as artists are over. We’ll become couch accessories. She’ll wash us with lavender shampoo until we forget our own names!
Aeolus, looking smaller and smaller, added with his thin, trembling voice:
— I read about it... Durga rides a lion. What if Mrs. Aura decides we are the "beasts" that must be tamed because we stole dinner? She’ll put us on the galleys of cleaning!
Sirocco covered his eyes with his paws:
— Are galleys some kind of grades you earn when you’re the best at "cleantistry"? I don't want to be brushed with ten hands at once! It’s too much forced pampering... and if she gives us away, we won't...
Mistral looked toward Aura, who was shaking out his precious velvet pillow with atomic energy.— C’est la fin du monde... Look at her! She’s not even sweating. She moves as if she’s dancing a dance of crumb destruction. If Anemo forgives us this time and doesn't give us away... I solemnly promise to accept the tufted one and become the most inspirational cat ever!
— I told you the tufted one isn't bad, Aeolus added somewhat melancolically, visualizing a solitary and permanent exile in the yard, which wasn't nearly as safe without his trusted kittens. If you go to Mrs. Aura, who do I have left? Maybe the hawk will return... maybe some stray tomcat will come by and find me appetizing...
From Noel’s yard, the cheerful barking of the morkie pup and Noel’s voice could be heard:
— Neighbor Anemo, what a wonderful morning! Based on how you're pacing, I believe you're in the middle of creating. How is the book coming along? Has the Shadow Thief been caught?
— Good morning, Noel! I’m not exactly in my element right now, but my project is going well; it’s no longer about the shadow thief, but...
— I’m so proud to have you and Miss Remi in our community; I suppose you’re coming to her televised event as well...
As if stung by a needle of jealousy at the mention of the "Women Aren't Tamed" lady, Anemo forced a polite smile.
— Of course, I can’t miss such an event where the whole neighborhood is invited...
— Let’s not exaggerate, young man, I don’t think your mother’s residence is quite that spacious... there will only be a few of us.
Anemo stopped abruptly and, in one gulp, emptied the mug that was more than half full of coffee, throwing the mug into the grass.
"So, it's at Mother’s house! When exactly was she planning to tell me? Everyone, the whole neighborhood knows where this 'epochal' event will take place... except me?"
— That stung! Mistral whispered. I thought Fleur had cured him of jealousy.
*
"Soy un hombre muy honrado..." from the garden table—among papers, notebooks, colored pencils, the laptop with the heart-sticker given by the tufted one, and the remains of a hearty breakfast—Archibald Peter Stone "Arbaletă" made Anemo’s phone vibrate.
— Yes, of course! I have a few chapters and by tomorrow evening... Of course! I’m in my best shape, don't worry... I’m practically writing with ten hands! Are you coming to Wednesday’s event too? Please, I have almost a week left, don't worry! Don't worry!... Don't... of course.
Sirocco seemed dazed by all his "favorite master’s" gesturing.
— I think Anemo is broken... he keeps repeating "Don't worry," I don't know what Arbaletă is telling him, he whispered to Mistral, and with a leap, he settled comfortably in Fleur’s arms to clean his fur with his pink, rough tongue.
From the house, "Mother Durga" poked her head out the door, solemnly announcing the end of "Operation Chaos."
— We’re finished here, darlings! The house is now clean and well-organized; the pantry and fridge are stocked with everything. You have enough liver to cook for everyone now, so don't be stingy and take care of the furry ones! You also have a few ready-made meals in containers... Good luck with your writing! I really must go now, I’m meeting Daisy!
— Thanks, Mom! I love you very much! And my furry ones love you too!
— Did you hear that, Aeolus? He’s not giving us away; we’re staying here. Don’t you think my fur is much silkier since Fleur’s been petting me? I think I might try that sophisficated thing too... the siesta Mistral talks about. I’m learning more every day!
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