Mirabella Crow Learns to Sing

By Samuel Spitzer

A crow who wishes to sing, unwittingly violating the sacred laws of her kind. A twelve-year-old boy, crushed by life, his only escape - music.

 

Despite the prophecy beaked down from time immemorial that crows live solely to honor the Sacred Word, risking the gift of flight if they fail, Mirabella Crow dreams of learning to sing.

David Parker doesn't even dare dream. Fat, afraid of heights, bullied both at home and school, he lives for the ordinary magic of feeding crows and playing what he feels through the piano.

When Mirabella overhears David practicing after a brutal day at school, she is moved to investigate, in spite of stern warnings from the leader of her Clan that music is "Not the Crow Way."

Worlds cross as these two beings slowly understand, befriend, and teach one other. But will they learn what they need to survive before unseen forces set in motion by their friendship threaten everything they hold dear?

 

What readers are saying...

 

"This book is both heart-rending and uplifting. The pain of the boy's abuse at the hands of his parents and schoolmates is palpable. And so is the delight of the boy's bond with the crows. I love the author's creation of crow language, and the building of trust between crow and human. There are no wasted words in this book. It's a brilliant page-turner." - Azaima Anderson

 

"I love crows and was intrigued by the title of the book, so I decided to read it myself before giving it to my granddaughters who are 11 and 16. I think both would love it as much as I did, although I might wait to give it to the younger one. There are scenes of bullying, sexual harassment, and suicidal thoughts, but nothing too intense for a teen, or probably even a tween. You won't regret reading this page-turner even if you have no young people to give it to. It's a beautifully written book with excellent messages for everyone, but especially those who feel they don't fit in, who aren't good at math, who love music, or who've ever been bullied!" - DAC

 

"This young adult story of an outcast boy musician who befriends crows is a lovely and moving piece of work by a natural-born story teller. David is fat, his parents are cruel, he is bullied in school. The crows in turn have their own complex world and cast of characters, reminiscent of Raven's End. When human meets crows, they all find they have gifts to share with each other, including friendship. I look forward to more work from this promising and talented author." - Miep Rowan O'Brien

 

International Review: I very much enjoyed this book. Two outsiders, a bullied schoolboy, kindhearted and a crow, also different of her kind, meet and learn of each other. The author has an almost cinematographic usage of language, colours, smells, emotions, all so well evoked. I found myself brought back into my own childhood, the very narrow outer world, sometimes hostile, and the rich inner realm so full of fantasies.The plot is rousing, I've read it in almost one go as I used to read in younger years. Something reminded me of "Watership Down." I shall learn more about crows, and feed them with cheese and peanuts. - Florian Diaz Pesantes

• Language: English
• Publisher: Samuel Spitzer
• Release date: Oct 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215612361

Samuel Spitzer

Samuel Spitzer is a writer, musician, engineer, inventor, and jack-of-all-trades. He still loves to feed the crows, and makes sure to always carry unsalted peanuts in shell, lest he fail them. He greatly enjoys the thoughts of readers and may be reached via email at: [e-mail]

Book preview

PROLOGUE

David Parker heard the caw of a crow three times before school. The first pulled him up toward a world where beings could fly, the second told him home could be found, close as a tree in the park nearby, and the third gave him the feeling they were trying to tell him something he was too young to have forgotten, the way of the wind and sky, not bound by bricks or buildings or people.

His bed was a warm, comfortable cocoon, and he didn’t want to leave it, but he swung his small feet onto the rug anyway, trudging down to the kitchen to answer their call.

Chapter One

Mirabella Crow, middle egg of three of the honored pair of Three Claws Clan, Senior Youngling, Great Mord of the famed Tree of Sticky Sap, was not having a good morning. The tree felt comfortable and scented of green and she really, really didn’t want to move from her warm, moss-covered perch. But the Great Eye, shining upon all things, had begun its daily flight across the highest and she was hungry. And of course, as even a junior youngling knew, best finding came early.

Frawk, her branchmate and closest friend had already flown off to the gray ways to hunt for food, although he was just as likely to be thinking about countings in some strange out-of-the-way tree. She reflected a moment. Frawk was...odd. He thought things could be counted in more than the traditional pair of three claws, although why anyone would want to do this he didn’t say, and he didn’t dare tell anyone but Mirabella. She blinked sleepily, rustling her feathers in the warmth of the shining Eye.

Layabout! cwawked a few of the Wise Elders in the upper branches followed by, Idle wings find no food!

Mirabella crunkled her feathers into place. She couldn’t wait to be a Wise Elder. Just sit in the high branches all day, first pick to eat from whatever the finders brought all the while chiding them for not bringing the choicest bits, discussing the Word. Although, on second thought, just discussing the Word sounded a bit...boring. Still, no one could talk back to them, unless an Elder broke a Rule, which rarely happened. She decided when she became an Elder, she’d make up her own rules—within reason, of course. The Elders cwawked again. She’d better fly off soon and bring back food to the Sharing Knot, since she was a senior youngling, with a senior’s duties. With luck, there would be a ‘more than she could carry’ find to truly satisfy the ache in her middle, instead of the smaller portion allowed her upon return. This was her right as a finder.

With a sigh and a croak, she finished beaking her shining black feathers straight, pulling fitfully at the few remaining youngling white ones, a tufted pair on one side and a single on the other. Mirabella thought they gave her a lopsided look, although Frawk liked them for some reason. She pushed off hard, wings outstretched, circling the tree before heading towards her usual gray way, between the homes of the strange Wingless. She thought they might be self-aware in some way, although the Clan did not. Some seemed almost sociable, some dangerous.

She remembered with a small sigh her teaching from first hatching, Not Crow, Not Clan, Not Close! Drilled into every member of the Mord, this wisdom kept them safely feeding or defending clan. Perhaps, she mused, veering away from the tree, the green home fading small beneath her wings, there would be bright food upon the smooth perches at her particular favorite hollow, left out by the Wingless who waved a not-wing each time it saw her. She hoped it was this food, so rich, although some travels there was also food in shell not-egg. A pair of tasty morsels in each. She would check. If not, there were always ground foods and small hoppers, although she detested the mushy feel of fur on her beak. She flew higher into the wind, soaring swiftly ever nearer the gray ways.

Chapter Two

David Parker, youngest child of Maybelline and Arthur Parker of 1513 Sycamore Lane, was not having a good morning. It was chilly, summer having given way to fall. Fall meant school. He’d been back only a few weeks and even though he had finally reached the eighth grade, nothing had changed.

David was feeding the crows on the upstairs porch before the bus came. He finished laying the last piece of cheese around the white wooden railing. He admired the pattern of orange strips, placed just the right distance apart so that each crow got a fair share.

David! What are you DOING?

He flinched where he stood, uncomfortably near the edge overlooking the backyard, and grabbed tight to the railing, swaying slightly. He did not like heights ever since his oldest sister, now thankfully away at college, had dropped him on his head as a baby in a failed attempt to adjust the number of children in her favor. David also really, really didn't like being surprised.

He turned and saw his mother. When she looked like this he thought Mother, with a capital M. She stood framed in the doorway leading back to the den, not looking pleased at all. This was not an unusual expression for Mrs. Parker, although it would have greatly surprised folks in the neighborhood, as superficially she looked like everyone’s version of a well put-together, friendly soccer mom. Yet David knew how swiftly changeable her moods were.

David, a small fattish boy with unkempt, thick brown hair, oddly delicate, fine-boned hands, a straight nose, and an air of a turtle ready to crawl back into his shell murmured Feeding the crows, Mother.

She stared.

For...for social studies, he improvised in what he knew was a doomed attempt. Definitely capital M, he worried, watching her expression.

She blocked his entry back into the house. "Again? I told you to stop it, they eliminate all over the porch. They’re filthy!"

That’s why I put it on the railing, he mumbled.

Her eyes swiveled to his hand. What’ve you got there? she said, peering suspiciously at the wax paper bag he held. Is that cheese?

This was Trouble. Her heels clicked as she strode swiftly across the porch, grabbing the bag none too gently from his hand. He clutched the railing tighter, blinking his eyes closed for a moment.

She opened the bag containing rich orange strips and sniffed. Is this our Best Aged cheddar? she asked, incredulity suffusing each word.

Uh-oh, capitals B and A; a wave of grimness overtook David. This many caps was new territory.

She shook the bag at his nose. Do you have any idea what this costs per pound?

As his brain overloaded spelling everything she said, David looked furtively at the pieces of cheese behind her, already placed around the railing bordering the porch. Shaking his head, he felt the familiar twisting deep in his tummy. Fortunately, his Mother didn’t look away from his face.

Fifteen dollars for a two-pound block, straight out of your allowance.

With this pronouncement she turned on her heel, cheese bag in hand, muttering lousy rotten kid and strode back into the house. And get ready! she shouted, not bothering to turn around. The bus comes in fifteen minutes!

David took a short breath; he sure couldn't take a long one. Sometimes it felt like his parents just wanted him gone. Like the last time his father made him clean his room. He got the feeling his father wanted to throw him out with all of his prized possessions. At least the secret drawer’s safe, he thought, taking small comfort.

A single loud Cleeeeeeeupk broke his reverie. The sound was familiar. He looked up to the old telephone pole past the alley, kitty-corner to the porch. A crow sat there watching him. It looked young, with two white feathers on one side and one on the other. He knew it had noticed the cheese.

Hi, Flooflefeathers, he called smiling, recognizing it as one of his favorites. He liked its odd white feathers. It seemed different in some way, like him.

He waved his arm in a circle. Breakfast!

Carefully letting go of the rail, David shrank back into himself, turned, and walked slowly through the dark doorway to the den, past the old upright piano sitting silently against the wall, to the echo of descending wings.

Chapter Three

Bright food! thought Mirabella Crow excitedly from her perch atop the dead tree.

There stood the small Wingless, bringer of foods. It looked long at her, which made her nervous, although it was Not Close so she felt safe according to Rule. She watched. It moved its not-wing and made sounds, then it slowly turned toward the hollow.

She had a feeling it recognized her, although she wasn’t sure the Wingless could think.

It was a Helper, as those who fed her kind were known, so it must hear the wishes of the Invisible in some small way, although it was said Helpers knew no words.

As soon as it entered the hollow, she dove to the perches and took a single bright food in beak. The aroma was wonderful and rich.

She calculated she could carry a pair of foods, so she took another and flew atop the dead tree to eat. The bright food went down quickly. As soon as Mirabella felt the fatness in her belly, she chirruped in satisfaction.

Back to the perches, this time she gathered not pair but, with delicate balancing, a full claw of three to carry home to the Sharing Knot. This was enough, as it was all she could carry. Bright food could not be held low-throated.

There would be no complaint. Her only difficulty was not eating this wonderful food before she reached the tree.

She launched, beak full.

Chapter Four

David, having taken as much time as he dared to feed the crows, headed somewhat distractedly out the front door towards the nearest bus stop, backpack slung over one shoulder. He wore an oversize, much too warm black parka to hide his fatness.

He heard the sound of wings, looking up in time to see Flooflefeathers ferrying a beak full of cheese off towards Victory Park, a couple streets over. David knew about a jabillion crows lived there. Sometimes, when he meandered through the cinder paths of the park, they seemed to recognize him and follow him around. He often brought unsalted peanuts along which they all loved and knew, like they had some sort of built-in Swiss army knife training, how to crack with their beaks while pinning the nut with one claw. When they flew with him as he walked, he felt more like his real self, like some sort of wizard. Or a warlock, he thought, smiling. That’s closer to what it fel—

OW!

This last thought was knocked out of his head by a punch to the right ear.

Whatcha doin' at my bus stop, fatslob? said Jemmy Wiems, his over-wide mouth sneering. He was a sandy-haired boy, about six inches taller than David, real good at gym, with a bulky build. There was a weird wrongness to his face, like slightly misshapen clay. Unfortunately, he lived close enough to share a bus stop. It was just the two of them. Wiems was careful never to be caught hitting, so David knew the bus was nowhere in sight.

David thought of answering, but his ear throbbed and he’d once made the mistake of trying to reason with Jemmy, which resulted in a punch to the gut so hard he couldn’t breathe to continue reasoning. He just hunched deeper into his parka, moving off the corner and back down the sidewalk to a safer distance.

Jemmy smirked, having made his point. A few minutes later the school bus clattered up, spewing fumes. Jemmy got on first, which was what he had in mind from the start.

David hesitated.

The bus driver in his old ball cap yelled, Come on, kid, we’ll be late!

Reluctantly, David climbed the three rubber-coated stairs with a heavy tread. At the top, the smell of the bus made him feel sick to his stomach.

Jemmy already lounged in the middle of the back bench next to his minion, Glen Cherino, famous for having one solid black eyebrow across.

David looked quickly away. Pairs of oval moon faces stared at him from the rest of the seats, none friendly, and no one made any room for him to sit.

Fortunately, there was a side seat open by the pole behind the driver. A heater whirred underneath. David tucked in there, backpack covering his stomach, feeling the usual cold dread even as hot air over-boiled his feet.

The door closed with a whoosh. The bus lurched toward school.

Chapter Five

David’s mother strode from the side door and flung the cheese bag into the garbage. It thumped, slid, and bottomed out. She banged the lid shut.

Maybell! Betty Young strode up the thin strip of grass between their houses. I can’t thank you enough for the chocolate cake, the girls scarfed it down. I need the recipe!

Maybelline laughed musically, her expression changing like quicksilver. Couldn’t let David get his claws on it. They’re such great kids, Betty. You must be very proud.

Betty was tall, with an indefinable elegance about her, platinum blond hair piled high, and ivory pale skin. She took Maybelline’s forearm. It clenched, then slowly eased to the warmth of Betty’s palm. Did you talk to Art?

Not yet.

Betty nodded, like she knew. Bob grumbled when I joined, but when he heard the perks, she snapped her fingers, easy. She grinned, raising her nose in the air.

Not to mention it’s so awfully prestigious, you can say you’re a member of the museum board. Betty bobbed a little, eager. Oh Maybell, you’ve got such great ideas, we need you! She mimed knocking back a drink and singsonged, Annnd wine tasting with the bigwigs.

Maybelline’s mouth twitched upward. She’d enjoy having a title besides housewife and mother. The Museum of Antiquities was a beautiful old Art Deco building in Victory Park nearby.

Her smile faded.

That’d be great Betty, but Arthur won’t be left alone with David and... she took a breath, I just don’t know what to do with that kid. He won’t work in school, wastes hours in the basement doing who knows what. Her brow tightened, tiny lines splaying to her temples.

He brought home a C in Geometry last spring. He’ll never make college.

Betty gazed at her friend, reached out her hand, then stopped as Maybelline stiffened. He’s only twelve, Betty said, a little early to worry about college, no?

He’s nearly thirteen. And stubborn and lazy. Won’t do homework to save his life. Just sits and diddles at the piano. Arthur’s about to lose it. He wanted a football player and all he got was a piano player. I think he suspects I had an affair with some stranger to produce that child. I envy you. Dora and Beatrice are so bright.

Dora made the track team!

Really?

Yes, and Beet’s going out for cheerleader. Thank goodness they’re not a worry. Betty looked at Maybelline as if gauging what to say. You know Maybell, I’ve heard David play, he’s amazing.

Oh, it’s all weird, freeform things. He should practice classical, if anything. He can play it if he wants, but instead he twaddles out whatever comes into his head. I don’t get it.

They call that jazz, said Betty.

Well, it isn’t going to earn him a living, especially if he keeps flunking math.

Betty looked puzzled. But a C isn’t flunking, surely?

David’s mother tilted her head up as a cloud obscured the sun, bringing a sudden chill to the walkway. She froze. And he’s weak, she almost spat the word, just like my father and brother.

Betty raised her eyebrows. Her neighbor never talked about her past.

Weak?

Maybelline continued as if she hadn’t heard. Males always disappoint, don’t they? My father died, left us all to starve, and so did my brother, mister Great Musician. Her mouth twisted. If David can’t cut it, I’d better know now so at least I’ll, I’ll... Her words trailed away as the sun reappeared. A smooth blankness flowed over her features. I’ll get you the cake recipe, if you’d like.

Betty eyed her uncertainly. Umm, if it isn’t too much trouble...

Maybelline nodded, her eyes unfocused.

Betty leaned closer and said in a low voice, How goes it with Art?

Maybelline sighed. When he deigns to be in town he comes home and watches TV. It’s boring. I think the cost of the girls’ college eats at him, and the fact that David... She grimaced.

Just take it a day at a time. I know you do your best for those men.

More than they deserve, right? said Maybelline, straightening up, her shining bowl of hair falling fashionably around her face. You know what? I’m joining the board. Art can deal.

Great! said Betty. I’ll let them know next meeting!

Smiling, in cahoots, they waved and headed off to their respective homes.

Chapter Six

Mirabella soared high over the gray ways back towards the wide green home nearby. As gray faded to soft color beneath her wings, she glided over the border tree, home of the winged red-fronted. The border tree stood bushily at the edge of the green home of many trees, right where the gray ways ended.

The red-fronted were other-of-sounding again. It seemed to her that was all they ever did, besides finding and eating ground wrigglers. Why did they get to sit there all day and make the other-of-sounds?

When she was a junior youngling, she’d screwed up her beak and bravely asked the High Cherk. Approaching the leader of the Mord, she bowed her beak low, honorswiping the High Cherk’s outclaw in proper respect.

Speak, said the Cherk.

Highest, awked Mirabella, what is the other-of-sound such as the winged red-fronted make?

The Cherk looked at her warningly, her token of office glittering around her neck.

It is not proper speech, and not the Crow Way.

Mirabella had been too afraid to press the High Cherk further, but still she wondered: if not proper speech and not the Crow Way, why did it make her heart squeeze so? Why did the sound resemble the feel of warmth upon feathers, or the scent of a new hatchling? There was a brightness to the other-of-sounds that reminded her of the Old Tales, the ones in which the clans gloried and retold, of the place whence the first Mord hatched into this world to remind the air and sky and waters of the Voice of the Winged Invisible.

Crows speak only the Word. The High Cherk’s pronouncement echoed in her hearers with an air of finality, the memory shaking Mirabella from her musing. Again, she had honorswiped the High Cherk’s outclaw, muttering obediently, Not the Crow Way.

She regretted not asking Crazy Wisdom Speaker Choahtt. Yet that would have been an even greater breach in what was not-done—in essence flying over the High Cherk’s wing. A junior youngling did not approach one touched by the Invisible beyond the Highest.

Remembering this, she tried hard to ignore the sounds of the red-fronted and, back on task, carried the bright food toward the center of the tree to the Sharing Knot. Many Wise Elders waited there for their meal, awk-awking approvingly when they saw her contribution.

Elder Krikin looked especially pleased. The Elder loved the bright food and chirked warmly to Mirabella, Well found, Senior Youngling!

Mirabella respectswiped Elder Krikin’s gnarled inclaw in response, for the Elder always treated her kindly. The Elder winked in farewell.

Heed the signs.

Mirabella dipped her beak politely, smiling inside, wondering why Elder Krikin always parted with these words, then pushed off for more finding, cherishing the rich full feeling of bright food in her belly.

She flew