Read Online Leonardo da Vinci: Renaissance Master by Ann Hood - Free Book Online Page A

drafting table. Felix picked up one of the drawings and gasped, surprised.
    In pen and ink, someone—maybe this very boy?—had drawn what looked like early airplanes.
    â€œMy flying machines,” the boy said, startling Felix.
    â€œOh,” Felix said.
Flying machines? In the fifteenth century?
    â€œI spend many afternoons and evenings at dusk studying birds and bats,” the boy said eagerly. “According to the laws of mathematics, the bird is an instrument equipped to lift off.”
    His hands, held together like two wings, slowly rose into the air in front of Felix.
    â€œI say, then man has the power to reproduce an instrument like this with all its movements. What do
you
say?”
    â€œI say yes,” Felix agreed, nodding. “Absolutely.”
    â€œBut how?” the boy said, studying his own drawings briefly before slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Our supper!”
    The room had no chairs, just benches to sit on. Felix slid onto one across from the boy, who ladled vegetable soup into a bowl for Felix, and then for himself. He slid a wooden board covered with slices of thickly cut bread in front of Felix.
    â€œThis soup is my own recipe,” he told Felix. “You see, I’ve been a vegetarian since I was a small boy, so I often cook my own meals. I like experimenting with different herbs and spices.”
    Felix tasted the soup. “It’s delicious!” he pronounced, and eagerly ate more, dipping the hard saltless bread into the rich broth.
    â€œI’ll give you the recipe if you like,” the boy said eagerly.
    â€œThat would be great,” Felix said, his mouth full of soup and bread.
    â€œI suppose that growing up on a farm, I developed a special relationship with animals, and I can’t imagine eating them.”
    â€œWe have a dog,” Felix said. “A big shaggy thing named James Ferocious.”
    The boy laughed. “Is he? Ferocious?”
    â€œThe opposite!” Felix said.
    Felix watched as the boy began to eat, holding his utensil with his left hand. Felix’s father was left- handed, too, and he almost commented on this similarity. But he didn’t want the boy to start asking questions again, so he ate instead, in silence, savoring the delicious vegetable soup.
    â€œI noticed that you’re interested in the fact that I’m left-handed,” the boy said.
    Felix blushed. “Sorry I was staring.”
    â€œIt’s not a good trait here. Some people think it’s the sign of the devil.”
    â€œNot me!” Felix protested. “My father’s left- handed!”
    â€œYou know, many Florentines believe that studying the past helps with the present. But I believe we learn from observation. Like the way you were observing me,” the boy continued between bites. “What theories did you come up with watching me?”
    â€œWell,” Felix said thoughtfully, “I saw that you are left-handed like my father, and since he’s an artist, too, I wondered if maybe being left-handed is something many artists have in common.”
    The boy nodded. “Interesting,” he said.
    â€œLike you observing birds to understand their flight patterns.”
    â€œI don’t just observe the flight pattern of birds. I observe all of nature. The movement of water, the arrangement of leaves on a stem. For example,” he said, tapping the table, “I spend much of my time alone, in the mountains, to observe nature. There, I found fossils, shells and fish and coral, all in the mountains, far from the sea. I asked myself,
How did these get here?
”
    He looked at Felix, seeming to wait for an answer.
    â€œI don’t know,” Felix said. “Maybe someone brought them there?”
    â€œAha! Some
one
? Or some
thing
?”
    Before Felix could respond, the boy said in disbelief, “Do you know that the popular theory is that these fossils floated up the