apron.
This is a Cessna 150 high-wing monoplane. Barney began the walk-around
check with David following attentively, but when he started a brief
explanation of the control surfaces and the principle of lift and
wingloading, he became aware that the boy knew more than he had owned up
to. His replies to Barney's rhetorical questions were precise and
accurate.
You've been reading, Barney accused.
Yes, Sir, David admitted, grinning. His teeth were of peculiar
whiteness and symmetry and the smile was irresistible. Despite himself,
Barney realized he was beginning to like the boy.
Right, jump in. Strapped into the cramped cockpit shoulder to Shoulder,
Barney explained the controls and instruments, then led into the
starting procedure.Master switch on. He flipped the red button.
Right , turn that key, same as in a car.
David leaned forward and obeyed. The prop spun and the engine fired and
kicked, surged, then settled into a satisfying healthy growl. They
taxied down the apron with David quickly developing his touch on the
rudders, and paused for the final checks and radio procedure before
swinging wide on to the runway.
Right, pick an object at the end of the runway. Aim for it and open the
throttle gently.
Around them the machine became urgent, and it buzzed busily towards the
far-off fence markers.
Ease back on the wheel.
And they were airborne, climbing swiftly away from the earth.
Gently, said Barney. Don't freeze on to the controls.
Treat her like, he broke off. He had been about to liken the aircraft
to a woman, but realized the unsuitability of the simile. Treat her
like a horse. Ride her light Instantly he felt David's death-grip on
the wheel relax, the touch repeated through his own controls.
That's it, David. He glanced sideways at the boy, and felt a flare of
disappointment. He had felt deep down in his being that this one might
be bird, one of the very rare ones like himself whose natural element
was the blue. Yet here in the first few moments of flight the child was
wearing an expression of frozen terror. His lips and nostrils were
trimmed with marble white and there were shadows in the dark blue eyes
like the shape of sharks moving beneath the surface of a summer sea.
Left wing up, he snapped, disappointed, trying to shock him out of it.
The wing came up and held rock steady, with no trace of over-correction.
Level her out. His own hands were off the controls as the nose sank to
find the horizon.
Throttle back. The boy's right hand went unerringly to the throttle.
once more Barney glanced at him. His expression had not altered, and
then with a sudden revelation Barney recognized it not as fear, but as
ecstasy.
He is bird. The thought gave him a vast satisfaction, and while they
flew on through the basic instruction in trim and attitude, Barney's
mind went back thirty years to a battered old yellow Tiger Moth and
another child in his first raptures of flight.
