Delia was in love. The only problem with the man of her dreams was that he was, well, a Man. Meaning a human. And that made it impossible for Delia to approach him. Like all intelligent crows, she was sworn to secrecy, pledged to conceal her true nature from the Men of the college.

 

Delia haunted the rafters of the philosophy department’s main lecture hall as the Man taught his classes. He was a professor, one with a way for words and a connection with life that spoke deeply to Delia’s inner desires. He understood the ways of things.

 

“The question for Bentham was not ‘Can they reason?’ or ‘Can they speak?’” Professor Jordan said. He spoke to a hall of around fifty or so undergraduates, most of them bored and listless. “That would be too simplistic. Why ought the moral weight of the mistreatment of a reasoning mind be greater than that of a non-reasoning mind? If one mind is more adept than another, should that alone make it more important to treat that mind well? No, the question for Bentham was ‘Can they suffer?’ It was the ability to suffer—physically, emotionally, or spiritually—and not the capacity for reason, that for Bentham was the true moral delineation.” As the professor spoke, he leaned over the podium, gesturing a finger skyward, shaking it with each point of emphasis. “It is the ability of one to experience pain, in any form, that makes it vital to treat that individual with dignity and respect.”

 

We are alike, Delia thought. More than he even realizes.

 

A rough wing hit Delia from the back, causing her to let out an involuntary squawk. For a second, Professor Jordan looked up at the sound, and Delia was terrified. But he continued: “It seems we have some agreement from our friends in the rafters!” The class gave a nervous chuckle, and the lecture went on.

 

“Rufus,” Delia hissed. The crows spoke a language only they understood, so there was no chance of discovery. Still, Delia kept her voice low to avoid any further disruptions to the lecture. “What gives?”

 

Rufus, a plump bird nearly twice the size of Delia, had perched on an adjacent beam. “It was worth it just to see the look on your face when that old man looked up!” Rufus held his wings to the sides of his head, imitating a shocked expression.

 

“He’s not old,” Delia muttered. “He just became a teaching professor last year, fresh out of graduate school.”

 

“Knock it off, blockhead,” Dex said. He had just landed next to Rufus. Compared to Rufus, he was lithe and slim, but not quite as tall.  “Del can attend whatever lectures she wants. We all can.”

 

“Thanks, brother,” Delia said.

 

“Except for this one, which we need to cut short,” Dex said. “Mother needs you back home for roosting duty.”

 

“But—”

 

“She said to come now, Del.”

 

“Is someone in trouble again for shirking her chores?” Rufus mocked. Delia gave him a hateful look.

 

“Fine,” Delia moaned. She hopped to the side, then gently pushed on one of the hall’s stained-glass panels until it was slightly ajar. She flew outside, followed first by Dex and then Rufus, who pushed the panel back into place.

 

The professor looked up, taking a moment’s pause. Then he shook his head and continued the lecture on Bentham.

 

~ * ~

 

“Delia Stormcrow, you have a responsibility to more than just yourself,” Nemia lectured. “You have a responsibility to help provide for this family. Further, you have a responsibility to all intelligent crows. Every crow must do her duty to keep the colony running. We must all place our trust in each other, and no one or no thing else.”

 

The two crows were perched on the steeple of the college chapel, in whose attic the family lived. It was not a private abode––some one hundred crows lived in the chapel attic. A family of their class could afford no more. Delicate conversations, such as this one, had to be taken outside.

 

“Mother, I…” Delia began. She choked back the words, then gathered her resolve. “I take my duty seriously. I promise I will not fly out on my assigned duties again.”

 

Nemia nodded.

 

“But I also want to learn! The Men have so much to teach us. If only I could become a Scholar, then the colony would grant us a grain stipend, and I could pursue my studies full time…”

 

“Del, stop. We’re not having this conversation again.”

 

“But Mother, these jobs are dull,” Delia complained. “How can anyone be happy when all they do is fly from place to place, forage here, clean there, build up a nest here?”

 

“You should take pride in your work. It was enough for your father, and so it’s enough for us.”

 

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be like Father!”

 

“I know you don’t want to be like your Father. You’d rather befriend the Men who killed him.”

 

Delia held back tears. Nemia relented; she knew she had gone too far. “Del, listen, I know you’ve taken an interest in the lectures of that new philosophy professor, Mr. What’s-His-Name. Jacob? Johnson? Dex told me. I know he only lectures during the day. But the day is for assigned duties and earning our feeding quota. What you do in the evening hours is your own business. There are other lectures that you can attend, even some philosophy lectures from visiting professors, if that’s your sort of thing.”

 

Delia remained silent. “You hate them.”

 

“No,” Nemia said. “I do not hate them, dear daughter. I fear them.” Nemia put a wing around her daughter. “And you must learn to fear them, too, before it’s too late. Before you end up like your father. He was no Scholar, but he loved those Men all the same. That love blinded him to Man’s danger.”

 

Nemia turned to leave. “Don’t stay out too late, dear,” she said. “We have a long day tomorrow.” And with that, Nemia flew around the steeple, darting into the attic for a good night’s rest.

 

~ * ~

 

For the next week, Delia did as she was told. She fulfilled her tasks on time, securing the family its quota. On the outside, she appeared to be a dutiful daughter.

 

On the inside, she was miserable.

 

One night after dinner, Dex pulled Delia aside. “Care for an evening flight around the campus?”

 

“Err, I guess so,” Delia replied.

 

As the siblings circled around the college bell tower, Dex began to reveal his secret. “Do you remember my friend Chestur?”

 

“Vaguely. Didn’t he become a Scholar?” Delia hardly masked a sense of jealousy.

 

“Indeed, he did. So he has all the time in the world to attend daytime lectures.”

 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

 

“It should, because that includes Professor Jordan’s philosophy lectures. And he’s told me all about them.”

 

Delia tilted her head to the side. Now she was interested. “Why would he do that? I thought the Scholars weren’t interested in Professor Jordan. Don’t they prefer the cranky economics professors over in Saieh Hall? Or the lawyers in Stuart?”

 

“Generally, they do. Unless they happen to be a particular Scholar who owes your big brother a favor.”

 

The birds were midair, but that didn’t stop Delia from diving in for a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

 

“Delia,” Dex laughed. “We’re falling. You need to let go!”

 

“Right, sorry,” Delia said, releasing her brother. The two swooped down to perch on a parapet near the bell tower. “So…”

 

“Well, you’ve been following the lectures up to Bentham, right?”

 

Delia nodded.

 

“The general theme of the course, as you know, is ‘the inner life.’ Chestur tells me the professor has shifted to a discussion of the existentialists. He previewed some topics on Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, and Heidegger as well as more recent writers like Sartre and de Beauvoir. But first, he started with Albert Camus.”

 

“Cam-oo?”

“He’s French. It’s spelled C-A-M-U-S.”

 

“What does Monsieur Camus have to say about existentialism?”

 

“To put it plainly, Camus thinks it’s a bunch of bunk. To him, the central conflict of life is the contradiction between a person’s search for meaning and the universe’s cold indifference. Life has no inherent meaning, even though we desperately wish it had. Camus calls this condition the ‘Absurd.’”

 

“People want to derive meaning from the meaningless.”

 

“Exactly. But Camus thinks this is good.”

 

“How can it be good to be driven toward something Camus believes is impossible to achieve?”

 

“Well, impossible in a sense. Camus does believe that life is inherently meaningless. But the idea is that, evoking the ancient Greek story of Sisyphus, the king condemned to roll a boulder up a hill for all eternity, it is the struggle in life that allows a person to make it meaningful. A person can ascribe their own meaning to suffering.”

 

Delia took it in. What a depressing, and beautiful, idea.

 

~ * ~

 

It was several weeks later, and Delia had just closed another foraging shift. A storm was brewing, and she knew she should go back to the chapel, her nominal home. But the day had been long, and she felt no great desire to spend another evening with her mother. Instead, she circled the philosophy department, peering through the windows for signs of an interesting lecture. Spotting a small class gathering in the annex, she cracked a window and snuck in.

 

The lecture was a continuation of the group’s discussion of Foucault. The annex had a gentle warmth. In the midst of the professor’s explanation of the self-reinforcing concepts of pouvoir and savoir, Delia dozed off.

 

A huge crack of thunder brought Delia back awake. The classroom had emptied, and Delia was alone in the dark. The hour was late, so she decided to head out. No doubt, her family would be worried if she didn’t come home.

 

The storm was now at full force. As Delia exited the annex, she was buffeted by heavy winds. A bolt of lightning pierced the sky as gales of rain fell upon the ground. The campus was deserted, every crow and Man having secured themselves indoors before the storm’s approach.

 

There was another terrifying crack, and Delia felt a jolt of pain spread throughout her body. The last thing she remembered before blacking out was a steep loss of altitude. Consciousness had left her long before she hit the ground.

 

~ * ~

 

When Delia awoke, she felt confusion, followed quickly by fear, and then an intense pain. She lay in agony on a soft, white towel atop a mahogany table. Her body was swaddled in a warm cloth. The cloth was cut so one wing was allowed to extend outward; it was kept in full-flight position by a small wooden splint.

 

And Professor Jordan was there. Delia could hardly move her head, but she could see him out of the far corner of her eye. He was sitting at a desk. He was writing something in a notebook, illuminated by a soft amber lamp.

 

Professor Jordan looked over. “Oh, thank heavens,” he gasped. “You’re awake.”

 

Delia started to struggle, but the cloth kept her swaddled tight. And her wing—it hurt like hell. No, not like this, her thoughts screamed. Not like Father!

 

“Easy, easy!” Professor Jordan said, raising his palm in a stopping motion. “You had quite a nasty fall. You must rest so your wing can heal.”

 

He is speaking to me as if…as if I should understand. Delia stopped her struggle, realizing it was of no use. She would not be able to escape in her current condition.

 

Seeing Delia calm down, the professor relaxed. He let his shoulders sag, releasing the tension. Then he smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I’m crazy,” the professor said, looking at Delia. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve always been crazy. But something tells me you are no ordinary bird. In fact, I recognize you.” The professor raised his index finger, pointing at Delia. “You’ve been attending my classes, haven’t you?” He had a nurturing expression.

 

Delia remained still, unsure how to react.

 

Professor Jordan waved his hands. “Gah, I know you can’t respond. Or maybe you don’t want to. You must be terrified. But I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. You are safe here, until you are well enough we can get you back to your family.”

 

The professor was staring at Delia, a kindly twinkle in his eyes. Delia could still see him out of the corner of her own. And in that moment, she truly believed, with all her heart, that this Man would do as he said. He would keep her safe.

 

~ * ~

 

Delia gradually came to, feeling a bit less pain in her wing. She turned in the direction of the professor’s desk. But Professor Jordan was gone, and Delia was no longer in his office. In the professor’s place sat the last person that Delia wanted to see: her mother.

 

Delia tried to stand, but her mother approached and gently pushed her daughter back into a resting position. “Del, you’ve been hurt badly,” Nemia said. “You need to rest for a few more days before you even think of getting out of here.”

 

“Where am I?” Delia asked.

 

“You are in the colony’s infirmary. We found you outside the chapel door this morning, resting gently in a bush. Your brother and I rushed you to the infirmary as fast as we could, but the doctors say you’ve already received proper care.” Nemia pointed to the splint that secured Delia’s broken wing. “He made that, didn’t he?”

 

Delia nodded.

 

Nemia sighed. “There’s something else, Del. I’m afraid I have some terrible news. And I wish more than anything that I didn’t have to share it.”

 

Delia felt a pit in her stomach. “Mother, what is it?”

 

Nemia’s tone was stern, but Delia saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “You, your brother, and I have been banished. As soon as you are well enough to fly, we must leave the colony and never return.”

 

~ * ~

 

Delia was in and out of consciousness for the next few days. Her mother and brother were constantly by her side in the infirmary, leaving only to wrap up certain business in the colony and, occasionally, to get some sleep of their own.

 

As her mother told the story, the banishment came upon inquisition from the Judiciary Committee of the Corvid Senate. The charge was violation of the colony’s statute of secrecy. Under the colony’s constitution, the accused were granted the right of trial, where they could make their case to the full Senate. Nemia and Dex pleaded their case before the twenty-four senators, but ultimately came up short in the final vote. The family would be banished, effective upon Delia’s recovery.

 

One evening, as Delia lay in a delicate balance between dreams and reality, she received an unexpected visitor. Nemia and Dex had left to get some sleep, so Delia was alone.

 

“Hey, Del,” Rufus said. He sat in a chair adjacent to Delia’s bed. “Dex says you are gradually getting better, thank the Ancestors. I could hardly believe it when I heard what had happened. And they’ve banished you! What is this colony coming to?”

 

“Not just me, Rufus,” Delia said. “Nemia and Dex will have to leave the colony, as well.”

 

“No, no,” Rufus said, shaking his head. “Is that what they told you? The way I heard it, the inquisitors levied their charge at you alone. They claimed you had conversed directly with a Man of the college. How they could possibly have known such a thing, I have no idea. It sounds like baseless hearsay to me. But because you were unable to attend, Nemia and Dex pleaded in your stead, to no avail. I heard Nemia got into quite the scuffle with the majority leader, calling him all sorts of names. It didn’t end well. When the final vote came down, I heard her and your brother declare to the entire Senate that if this sorry colony wouldn’t have Delia, then there was no use in either of them sticking around.”

 

Delia turned to fully face Rufus. “What are you saying?”

 

“They’re giving up their lives for you.”

 

Delia was shocked. For a moment, she lay in silence. “How…how could they?” she whispered. “And I’ve been such a brat this whole time!”

 

Rufus shuffled awkwardly. For the first time, Delia noticed Rufus looked different. He bore the single, silver ring around his neck that was granted only to Scholars.

 

Rufus noticed Delia’s stare. “Oh, this,” he said meekly, touching the ring. “Yeah, they finally elevated me to the rank of Scholar.”

 

“I’m happy for you,” Delia said, not quite convincingly.

 

“Del,” Rufus began. He took a moment to gather his courage. “I don’t deserve this. I’m not half the student you are. It should be you, not me, being elevated. And here you are, on banishment row. This isn’t right. Where is the justice?”

 

“Rufus, it’s okay. Not all things are just. That’s just the way it is. We have to make peace with the life that is given to us. If we want to, we can find our own meaning in the suffering.”

 

“Where did you learn that?”

 

“I’m sure you can guess.”

 

Rufus simply nodded. Another pause, and then he said: “Del, I am truly sorry for the way I have treated you. You didn’t deserve to be bullied like that. If things had been different. If I’d been different…”

 

He let the words hang in the air. For a while, the two crows shared their silent company. An unconscious sense of finality and change passed almost imperceptibly between them.

 

“I know you loved him, Del,” Rufus said. “You were right to do so.”

 

And then he left. Delia would never see him again.

 

~ * ~

 

Four days later, the family took flight. As they left the college, there was no one to see them off. No friends wished them well, and no parting good-byes were made. They were persona non grata.

 

Nemia, Dex, and Delia flew in silence. They stopped every few hours to rest and forage, then continue their journey north. The climate grew colder as they made their way past towns and villages, great lakes and small coves. They slept in parks and forests, and fed on bugs and berries.

 

As the trio crossed the international border, Dex spoke up. “You know where we’re headed, don’t you, Del?” he asked his sister. Nemia was several feet in front, with Dex and Delia flying in tandem behind.

 

Delia shook her head.

 

“Mother spent hours with books and maps from the campus library, researching the best possible place for our future,” Dex said. “I helped, of course, but Mother was the brains of the operation.”

 

Nemia said nothing, but allowed herself a silent smile.

 

“We settled on the Northern City,” Dex said.

 

At the news, Delia perked up. “The Northern City, the largest city in the country?”

 

“That’s the one. I hear they have a great many universities up there. Some of them claim to be among the best in the world.”

 

Delia couldn’t help herself; she was now smiling from ear to ear.

 

“Mother, is that true? Or is Dex just pulling my feathers?”

 

“It’s true, Del,” Nemia shouted back. “You may not get a fancy silver ring, but we’re going to make a Scholar of you yet! So buckle up, because plenty of hard work awaits when we finally reach our new home.”

 

The family continued in silence, but the tone had clearly shifted. And again, Delia was in love. It was a different kind of love than she had experienced before. One less exciting, perhaps. But theirs was a love born in hardship, mended from broken bonds. It would grow to be unshakeable and sound.

 

~ * ~

 

Many years later, as Delia was wrapping up her studies for the day in the Northern City, she thought back to a particular conversation from her time in a faraway land. She had kept it secret, not out of any sense of shame or fear, but because the discussion that had occurred belonged to her and Professor Jordan alone. It always would.

 

Delia lay on the professor’s mahogany table, in serious pain but getting stronger by the hour. Professor Jordan was reading an excerpt from Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex. He planned to assign the reading for the following week of lectures.

 

“It may not leave much of an impression on this latest batch of students,” he bemoaned. “But I believe you will appreciate it far more.”

 

So he read, and Delia listened. His soothing voice was a warm embrace, the words like the sweetest buttered corn. For a moment, Delia and the professor were as one, like minds sharing a common inner life.

 

“When she does not find love, she may find poetry. Because she does not act, she observes, she feels, she records; a color, a smile awakens profound echoes within her; her destiny is outside her, scattered in cities already built, on the faces of men already marked by life, she makes contact, she relishes with passion and yet in a manner more detached, more free, than that of a young man.”

 

The professor flipped through the pages, before continuing: “Her wings are cut and then she is blamed for not knowing how to fly.”

 

Professor Jordan took a moment to let the words have their due, then he set the book down upon his desk. “You know, crows really are some of the most magnificent creatures I’ve ever studied,” he said. “We, as humans, may not fully understand them. They develop tools to assist their work. They assign roles to more efficiently care for the group. And most importantly, we know that they can learn and love. They grieve and suffer for those whom they have lost.”

 

The professor was looking at Delia, the twinkle back in his eyes. “When you learn all of that, it becomes apparent that Homo sapiens never really had an exclusive claim to personhood. Like de Beauvoir says, society errs in casting Man as the default.”

 

Delia’s heart hung on every word. When the professor looked at her, she looked back, nodding along and voicing gentle chirrups. She was speaking her own language, but she knew he understood.