"Is there something wrong with my clothes?" Ling Wu snorted.
"I've just never seen a man in a red gown. Or velvet pants."
"Should I appear in beggars' rags?" Ling Wu stormed.
"If you live with the other ghosts, why aren't your clothes wet?" That was a legitimate question, Jon thought.
"You are an impudent boy and don't deserve answers of any kind," said Ling Wu.
Not knowing what to say or how to please this ghost who wasn't a ghost, Jon apologized.
"Do you know what I can do?" asked the Great Ling "Wu.
"No, sir."
The roly-poly man extended sausage-like fingers that were studded with rings in which huge, spinning red stones were set.
Before Jon could blink, a white dove appeared on one of the fingers and then fluttered off into the air. Suddenly, a black rabbit hung by its ears from Ling Wu's left hand. When Ling Wu released it, it bounded up the path, finally vanishing just like the dove, and Ling Wu flicked a speck of dust from the rich red cloth of his gown as though he'd done nothing at all.
Jon felt like saying "They weren't real" but didn't dare. Ling Wu might make him vanish, too.
"I am the greatest magician ever, but much more than that, much more," intoned Ling Wu, without the slightest modesty. "No one dead a thousand years, and twice again, or living ten thousand years from now, will ever astound and amaze as I have astounded and amazed."
The green eyes glittered and the parchment skin glistened.
"Show me another trick, please," Jon said.
" 'Trick?'"roared Ling Wu. "Trick?"
Jon knew he'd said the wrong word. "I've performed my art for emperors and empresses in imperial palaces and the great halls and fairs of Peking. Trick indeed, ant brain!"
Jon nodded, feeling smaller and more insignificant than any ant on earth.
Ling Wu's eyes narrowed, his smooth skin drawing tight around them. "Watch closely."
Before Jon's eyes, across the incoming tide, the Great Ling Wu was rising as if invisible strings tugged him toward heaven. His body was soon one foot, two feet, three feet, off the brown pebbly rock. Lying back, enjoying himself, he extended his legs and laughed smugly.
"You're floating," Jon said breathlessly.
"Clearly," replied Ling Wu.
Jon looked toward the lighthouse and the figure of his father far up die iron ladder. He opened his mouth to shout so that his father could see this marvelous feat that was happening down in their cove.
"Uh-uh," warned Ling Wu. "This is for your eyes only. You are never to mention this as long as you live. If you do, I'll turn you into a one-eyed calico toad."
Jon clamped his lips together.
The magician turned one way and another. He flapped the sleeves of his gown as if he were a bird, then kicked as if swimming in thin air was as easy as swimming in water.
He turned his head and an almost evil smile crossed his face.
Jon gasped. Ling Wu wasn't just floating.
He was body flying.
FIVE
"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT," SAID JON, WATCH-ing the Chinese magician float comfortably in the air, a fat stringless kite, a multicolored bird.
"But you do see it, don't you?" asked Ling Wu, finally lowering himself to the rock, adjusting his magnificent red gown as he sat down again.
"Is it the robe? Is that how you do it?" Jon asked excitedly.
"Not at all."
"Well, how do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Body fly."
"Levitation, my child."
"Levi?..."
"Tation.L-e-v-i-t-a-t-i-o-n"
It was a huge, teeth-pulling, tongue-wrapping word.Levitation!
"Anyone can do anything, provided they know how."
Jon's voice was as thick as cream when he asked, "Can I?"
Ling Wu's green eyes sharpened until they were stabbing green points afire with anger. "You're asking me for my secrets! I knew you would, unworthy heathen!"
There was that awful word again. "Only this one secret," Jon somehow found the courage to say. He could leave Clementine now and then, find friends on the mainland, have fun, then fly home. "Only one, sir."
"Only this one secret, you earthworm. You say it so lightly. The very idea. Of all the nerve." Ling Wu was again livid with rage. His skin had turned as crimson as his gown. His jowls quivered and his thick fingers shook.
Jon had never been so terrified in his entire life, knowing Ling Wu could easily make him vanish like the dove and the rabbit. The green points of Ling Wu's eyes raked him, searched his insides, and went straight into his thudding heart.
Yet he found the courage to speak again. "Please! You don't know how lonely my life has been. Some mornings I don't even want to wake up."
Ling Wu turned off his rage as if it were faucet water. "Hmh. You're forgiven for being so greedy, I suppose." Then a fat finger aimed toward Jon's chest. "You'll promise to tell no one. Ever? Even after death? We've never met! I don't exist!"
"No one, I promise."
"Not your honorable father?"
"Not my honorable father."
"Not your honorable mother?"
"Not my honorable mother."
"Or honorable aunt or uncle or cousin or friend or foe?..."
Jon's mouth was as dry as uncooked oatmeal. He began to repeat, "'Or honorable aunt or uncle—'"
"Never mind," Ling Wu broke in sharply. "No one shall you ever tell. Ever. Ever and ever. I don't exist."
"No one shall I ever tell. Ever. Ever and ever. You don't exist." The promise was to last until death did him part—and beyond. Never would he tell.
The magician's green eyes were now squinting and glinting. "On threat of being boiled in dragon's bile and having flaming straw stuffed up your nose..." His hand shot out, grasping a bundle of flaming straw. He tossed it into the air. Jon could hardly breathe. ".. .your ears turned into goat's horns and your toes nailed to a shark's back..." Ling Wu nodded toward the cove. A ten-foot shark suddenly patrolled it.
Feeling faint, Jon managed to reply weakly, "No one shall I ever tell—"
"On absolute oath to a member of the Celestial Court who has done the Three Kneelings and Nine Knockings..."
Jon repeated in a bare whisper, "'On oath to—
"Never mind," said Ling Wu. He folded his arms over his potbelly and stared at Jon Jeffers for quite a while, then took a deep breath. "All right, then. I shall tell you."
SIX
"WITH MY AMAZING, ASTOUNDING brain I levitate. That's all," said Ling Wu. "My own astonishing brain."
"Like you," the magician went on, "I have billions of brain cells. But unlike you, and most other unworthy people, I use them. I levitate with maybe five hundred million. I could do it with less, but I feel more comfortable with that many holding me up."
With a tummy the size of a washtub, Ling Wu likely needed five hundred million cells, Jon thought. He'd read that every human had billions of brain cells.
But how did one command one's brain cells to levitate? Jon did not dare ask.
"Concentration, my unworthy," Ling Wu continued. "I put all that amazing and astounding energy together. It's very powerful, believe me. Using seven hundred million cells, I can lift that boat over there."
Jon watched as his father's dory, chained to a ring embedded in the rock, rose up as if a giant blast of air were beneath it. Straining against the chain for a minute or so, it settled again.
With glee, his almost evil eyes again laughing, Ling Wu then said, "If I used a billion cells, I could lift that lighthouse." "Oh, please don't!" Jon cried out, fearing his father would tumble off the side.
"Hmh," said Ling Wu thoughtfully, scanning the tall white cylinder.
Jon desperately wanted to change the subject. He did not doubt that the magician could raise the old brick tower. He said, "All I have to do is concentrate, then I can levi..."
"Tate!" Ling Wu nodded, shifting his eyes from the lighthouse. "Concentrate and
levitate."
"Just tell myself I can do it, over and over," Jon said excitedly.
"Exactly."
Jon closed his eyes on the very spot and began to concentrate.
"Idiot heathen," Ling Wu lashed out, and Jon opened his eyes. "You cannot learn overnight. Your body has to get used to the idea. It may take weeks."
"I'll practice," Jon said eagerly.
Ling Wu nodded again. "You must practice many, many times. And once you learn how, don't do foolish things. Do it where no one will see you. People aren't used to seeing other people levitating all over the place. Do it at night."
But Jon wasn't really listening. He was thinking about what fun it would be for people to see him floating and flying. Here, there, and everywhere, like a butterfly, a hummingbird.
Ling Wu, however, seemed to know that Jon was apt to get into terrible trouble, and as if immediately regretting having revealed his secret, he said, "People who don't listen to warnings are likely to find disaster. Do not fly in fog or thunderstorms or high winds. And don't fly long distances—especially at first."
Jon nodded, but the words might just as well have been tossed into the ocean breeze. His thoughts were consumed by that magic word—levitation.
Ling Wu shrugged. "Have fun, Jon Jeffers. Now you will actually be able to fly like a hawk or a heron or a hummingbird. You will soar like a kite. But do not forget that a kite must have a string to hold it to the earth. You will not have one."
But Jon was not thinking of kite strings. He was thinking of darting along on high—over cities and highways, over beaches and streets, forests and rivers—waving to everyone below:Hello down there; I'm Jon Jeffers! Ling Wu was right—he'd never be lonely again.
But then he heard Ling Wu's sharp, "Turn around, unworthy."
Obediently, he turned, looking up toward the top of the lighthouse, where his father was still painting. Then Jon thought he heard the sound of far-off temple bells. When he turned back, the Great Ling Wu was gone. The seals began to bark again.
Smacks, realizing the visitor had departed, left his hiding place and bravely raced down the fifty-four steps, matching the seals' hoarse bleats and honks.
Jon said to him, "Coward! I just learned how to fly."
Ling Wu had not included best-friend dogs in his orders never to tell anyone about concentrating and levitating, or that he even existed.
Jon realized he could now move his feet in the sand again and took a few steps back to the dock. He looked all around the cove. He went over to the dory. There was no sign that it had been lifted. He went to the pebbly rock where the magician had sat. Not even a trace of Ling Wu's gown and velvet pants, not a stray thread. Was Ling Wu a living ghost? Was it all a silly daydream? Or was he going insane, as Eunice had predicted?
For a moment Jon thought about telling his mother and father what had happened. But then he had a vision of being boiled in dragon's bile, whatever that was, along with having his toes nailed to a shark's back and flaming straw stuffed up his nose.
Best keep it all to himself.
SEVEN
THAT NIGHT AT SUPPER, OVER BEEF STEW and homemade noodles, his favorite meal, Jon decided to ask his Ether a question. The question wouldn't give away Ling Wu's secret but might help prove Jon wasn't just daydreaming in the cove. "What, exactly, does levitation mean?"
Frowning a bit, his Ether answered, "It means 'to rise up, to float in the air'..."
His mother added, "Doesn't happen, Jon. It means 'overcoming gravity.' It's supernatural. Where did you hear the word?"
"The Moonbeam Show "A lie. Then, "Mom, what is gravity?"
"It is the force of attraction by which terrestrial bodies tend to fall toward the center of the earth." She was so smart. She'd once been a teacher.
Jon frowned helplessly. What were terrestrial bodies?
She said, "Tomorrow morning we'll go deeper into that. Eat your supper."
He ate a few more bites, then said to both of them, "What is dragon's bile?"
His father laughed. "I guess it's the acid in a dragon's stomach."
His mother said, "Dragon's bile, ugh. I should be paying more attention to the shows you listen to."
Jon had his own radio set. He smiled faintly at them. "What is the Celestial Court?"
"It's a heavenly court," said his mother.
He was now certain that Ling Wu had indeed visited Clementine Cove; perhaps Eunice was right and Ling Wu lived in a sea cavern beneath the rock with the other ghosts without getting wet. Or maybe he lived in China. Oh, what his parents didn't know. He was pretty sure they'd never talked to a living-dead magician.
"You're asking unusual questions tonight, Jon. But I suppose that's how you get an education," his mother said.
Jon half smiled, anxious to leave the table. Hurriedly finishing the bowl of stew and noodles as his parents began to talk about other things, Jon said, "I think I'll go to bed."
His mother looked over with alarm. He usually fought to stay up late. "Do you feel all right?"
"I'm just sleepy."
So, Jon kissed them both and ran off to his room, Smacks at his heels. He quickly undressed, said his prayers, climbed into bed, then took the deepest breath he could.
It was time to experiment.
Pushing the pillow away so his body would be flat, he began to whisper, "Rise, Jon, rise! Rise, Jon, rise..."Go to work, brain cells, he thought.
Smacks cocked his head one way, then the other. He was accustomed to his human friend talking to himself.
The setting was right, Jon thought. A beam of moonlight put a wand through his window. There was no fog, and no ghosts were climbing the cliffs.
He repeated himself again and again, expecting that at any moment he'd feel himself levitating.
Smacks looked and listened for a while, then went to sleep.
Nothing happened. Jon thought that maybe the covers were holding him down. He kicked them off and concentrated once more. Not a fraction of an inch did he move.
Trying to remember exactly what the Great Ling Wu had said, he started all over again, hoping he could gather five hundred million cells into one space in his head, and let them work collectively to raise him up.
"Five hundred million cells, lift me. I order you to lift me!"
That didn't work, either.
So, he went back to repeating, "Rise, Jon, rise." He finally fell asleep while saying it.
At about nine-thirty his mother came into the room and saw that the covers were pushed to the end of the bed. She felt his forehead. No fever. She tucked him in and left the room.
Smacks sighed and went back to sleep. It had been a trying day.
EIGHT
ALL THE NEXT DAY JON PRACTICED.
He practiced down on the pebbly rock where Ling Wu had sat, and up in the coarse grass. He climbed to the top of the lighthouse, to the small walkway outside the lantern room. Smacks followed him, as usual. He was lonesome, too.
Believing it might help to be up that high, 160 feet off the ground, Jon lay down on the steel decking and began to repeat, "Rise, Jon, rise!" Nothing rose except the updrafts of wind. By this time his brain was so tired from all the effort, Jon gave up and went slowly down the spiraling ladder to the inside steps.
At twilight Jon was still exhausted and so went straight to bed after supper. He fell asleep within a few minutes, not thinking once about Ling Wu or levitation. He slept for seven hours straight but awoke suddenly at 2:00 A.M. He no longer felt tired. His brain was rested, too. He looked around. Every ten seconds the beam of bright light filled his window, and then blackness briefly returned. The wind drummed at the red cottage, and he could hear the surf pounding and sloshing at the base of the rock.
It would be a good time to try again, he thought.
For a moment he lay very still and then pushed the covers down. Breathing slowly, and relaxing, he concentrated. In a small voice inside his head, he directed five hundred million brain cells to lift him. He did not say
it aloud this time.
Silently, he commanded,Rise, Jon, rise. Then he felt something happening.
Impossibly, incredibly, wondrously, he was lifting up from the sheet. An inch, then another, then another. He was afraid to move a muscle or take a breath. He only moved his eyes. Right and left and down, focusing on his toes.
Was he imagining this? Or was it happening? He was tempted to take one hand and feel beneath his back to make certain he was suspended in air.No, he thought.I'll just stay here a moment and float; be very still. If the spell had caught him—if it was true levitation—he didn't want to ruin it.If only Ling Wu could see me now.
Then he remembered the large mirror on top of his dresser. From the bed he could always look into it. Sometimes on awakening, he even made feces into it.
He looked to the right and waited for the next beam of light to flash by the window. The seconds ticked off, and then in a bright explosion he saw a brown-eyed, brown-haired boy of nine named Jonathan Jeffers floating in the air above his own bed.
He also saw Smacks—with owl eyes, getting ready to sound alarm at his master's strange and dangerous position—and whispered urgently, "Don't bark; you'll ruin everything."
Was there ever a human on earth, old or young or skinny or fat, who hadn't thought about this, dreamed of it? Pumping along on an aerial road that wasn't there. Taking a nap on a cloud. Waving to an eagle. Dancing over rooftops.
Peter Pan had done it!
That Arabian on his carpet had done it!
Ling Wu had done it!
And now Jon Jeffers had done it!
It was impossibly, incredibly wondrous. Jon felt like shouting, screaming, and whooping but didn't dare. Thinking he was having a nightmare, his parents would come rushing in. They'd both feint upon seeing their only son in the midst of levitation. Then they'd ask questions.
Jon took a deep breath and said aloud, "That way." Nothing happened.
So, he focused his mind, harnessed all his cells, and said it silently. Suddenly, he was turning, going straight into the mirror, which fell with a loud bang as Jon bounced off, crying out with pain.
The Boy Who Could Fly Without a Motor Page 2