The Boy Who Could Fly Without a Motor by Theodore Taylor Read Free Book Online

demonstrate your ability to fly without a motor." He looked at the buckets of primer, one in each of Jon's hands. "What are those?" he demanded.
    "My anchors," Jon said. "Otherwise, I could go up to the moon." He felt intimidated, even though it
was
nice to be in the city.
    There was nasty laughter, and one angry-looking man said, "Ah, come on!"
    You'll see,
Jon thought.
    "We can't do it out here on the docks, in case you can actually fly—which none of us believe—so I've arranged for the use of a high school gym."
    Jon said, "You should also put a line around my ankle so I don't get caught up in the rafters."
    The lieutenant commander looked at him as though Jon were as insane as Eunice Jones had predicted, then sighed. "All right."
    They went off to the high school in separate cars, the guards riding with Jon and his mother and Smacks. No one spoke. Jon felt like he was under arrest.
    After they all filed into the school's gym, the armed guards took up position at the main door, securing the secrecy of the test. Even the janitor was sent out.
    The Coast Guard lieutenant tied a three-eighths-inch yellow line to Jon's right ankle. There were fifty feet of it.
    The FBI agent had brought along a photographer, who said, "This is one of the silliest things I've ever done."
    Jon said, "Are you ready?"
    "Yeah," said the naval officer.
    The others repeated, "Yeah!"
    Jon put his buckets of paint down and began to rise steadily.
    The lieutenant commander said, "I'll be —."
    The major said, "I'll be ——."
    The FBI agent said, "I'll be ——.
    Jon began to fly around the gym as fir and high as the rope would let him, smiling down at all of them.
    The Coast Guard lieutenant applauded, and the others joined in.
    For the fun of it, Jon made several aerial dives, and then called for the lieutenant to haul him back to the floor. The photographer took a picture of Jon with the FBI agent.
    The agent, whose name was Hiram K. Forbes, said, "Just wait until the president hears about this." The lieutenant ran outside to call Letterman Hospital.
    Agent Forbes said, "I demand to know how you do it."
    "It's a secret," Jon said earnestly. "I cannot tell you."
    "You'll have to tell the president."
    Jon said, "No, sir, I won't."
    The agent turned to Jon's mother. "Your son will be in a lot of trouble if he doesn't tell the president. He could be arrested under the reverse spy laws."
    "Oh no, oh no," Mrs. Jeffers said, appearing feint.
    "Oh yes," said Agent Forbes.

SEVENTEEN
    THE BEST BRAIN SURGEON IN THE SAN Francisco area, if not in all of the United States of America, was Dr. Leon Buxtehede, a big-nosed hairy man of short stature who wore thick-lensed yellow plastic glasses. The hair on his head was as black as octopus ink, but his beard was pure white.
    He had just finished listening to Jon's account of his meeting with Ling Wu, and the events thereafter, and was deep in thought. He'd asked Jon how he flew, and was exasperated when Jon refused to answer. Meanwhile Jon was looking at a large color drawing of the human skull with words on it like
white matter
and
gray matter
and
medulla oblongata
and
cerebral peduncle.
His mouth sagged at the corners.
    Dr. Buxtehede sat for a while longer gazing out over the famous Presidio, San Francisco's lovely military park. Finally, he said, "I could take X rays of your brain for the next week and consult with my colleagues all the way to Boston, but I really have no idea what to do."
    Jon's hopes sank to the bottom of Three Fathom Shoal.
    "This is the most unusual and difficult case I've ever encountered. I could open up your skull and try to find the answer, Mr. Jeffers. Clearly, the brain is involved, in my opinion."
    You are totally right,
Jon thought.
All the cells. Billions of them.
    Jon's mother said, "I feel feint."
    Jon sincerely hoped his skull would not have to be opened. More than ever he wanted to talk to Ling Wu and end this business of having to carry buckets of paint