Peter Benchley - Jaws

“Well, what do you say?” said Quint. “We going today or not? Either way, Brody, it’ll cost you.”

Brody felt shaken. He was tempted to cancel the trip, to return to Amity and discover the truth about Hooper and Ellen. But suppose the worst was true. What could he do then? Confront Ellen? Beat her? Walk out on her? What good would that do? He had to have time to think. He said to Quint, “We’ll go.”

“With the cage?”

“With the cage. If this asshole wants to kill himself, let him.”

“Okay by me,” said Quint. “Let’s get this circus on the road.”

Hooper stood and walked to the cage. “I’ll get in the boat,” he said hoarsely. “If you two can push it over to the edge of the dock and lean it toward me, then one of you come down into the boat with me, we can carry it over into the corner.”

Brody and Quint slid the cage across the wooden boards, and Brody was surprised at how light it was. Even with the diving gear inside, it couldn’t have weighed more than two hundred pounds. They tipped it toward Hooper, who grabbed two of the bars and waited until Quint joined him in the cockpit. The two men easily carried the cage a few feet and pushed it into a corner under the overhang that supported the flying bridge. Hooper secured it with two pieces of rope.

Brody jumped aboard and said, “Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” said Quint.

“What?”

“Four hundred dollars.”

Brody took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Quint. “You’re going to die a rich man, Quint.”

“That’s my aim. Uncleat the stern line, will you?” Quint uncleated the bow and midships spring lines and tossed them onto the dock, and when he saw that the stern line was clear, too, he pushed the throttle forward and guided the boat out of the slip. He turned right and pushed the throttle forward, and the boat moved swiftly through the calm sea — past Hicks Island and Goff Point, around Shagwong and Montauk points. Soon the lighthouse on Montauk Point was behind them, and they were cruising south by southwest in the open ocean.

Gradually, as the boat fell into the rhythm of the long ocean swells, Brody’s fury dulled. Maybe Hooper was telling the truth. It was possible. A person wouldn’t make up a story that was so easy to check. Ellen had never cheated on him before, he was sure of that. She never even flirted with other men. But, he told himself, there’s always a first time. And once again the thought made his throat tighten. He felt jealous and injured, inadequate and outraged. He hopped down from the fighting chair and climbed up to the flying bridge.

Quint made room on the bench for Brody, and Brody sat down next to him. Quint chuckled. “You boys almost had a no-shit punch-up back there.”

“It was nothing.”

“Looked like something to me. What is it, you think he’s been poking your wife?”

Confronted with his own thoughts stated so brutally, Brody was shocked. “None of your damn business,” he said.

“Whatever you say. But if you ask me, he ain’t got it in him.”

“Nobody asked you.” Anxious to change the subject, Brody said, “Are we going back to the same place?”

“Same place. Won’t be too long now.”

“What are the chances the fish will still be there?”

“Who knows? But it’s the only thing we can do.”

“You said something on the phone the other day about being smarter than fish. Is that all there is to it? Is that the only secret of success?”

“That’s all there is. You just got to outguess ’em. It’s no trick. They’re stupid as sin.”

“You’ve never found a smart fish?”

“Never met one yet.”

Brody remembered the leering, grinning face that had stared up at him from the water. “I don’t know,” he said. “That fish sure looked mean yesterday. Like he meant to be mean. Like he knew what he was doing.”

“Shit, he don’t know nothing.”

“Do they have different personalities?”

“Fish?” Quint laughed. “That’s giving them more credit than they’re due. You can’t treat ’em like people, even though I guess some people are as dumb as fish. No. They do different things sometimes, but after a while you get to know everything they can do.”

“It’s not a challenge, then. You’re not fighting an enemy.”

“No. No more ’n a plumber who’s trying to unstick a drain. Maybe he’ll cuss at it and hit it with a wrench. But down deep he don’t think he’s fighting some body . Sometimes I run into an ornery fish that gives me more trouble than other ones, but I just use different tools.”

“There are fish you can’t catch, aren’t there?”

“Oh sure, but that don’t mean they’re smart or sneaky or anything. It only means they’re not hungry when you try to catch ’em, or they’re too fast for you, or you’re using the wrong bait.”

Quint fell silent for a moment, then spoke again. “Once,” he said, “a shark almost caught me . It was about twenty years ago. I had a fair-size blue shark to gaff and he gave a big yank and hauled me overboard with him.”

“What did you do?”

“I come up over that transom so fast I don’t think my feet touched anything between water and deck. I was lucky I fell over the stern, where it’s fairly low down, near the water. If I’d of fallen over amidships, I don’t know what I would’ve done. Anyway, I was out of that water before the fish even knew I was in it. He was busy trying to shake the gaff.”

“Suppose you fell over with this fish. Is there anything you could do?”

“Sure. Pray. It’d be like falling out of an airplane without a parachute and hoping you’ll land in a hay-stack. The only thing that’d save you would be God, and since He pushed you overboard in the first place, I wouldn’t give a nickel for your chances.”

“There’s a woman in Amity who thinks that’s why we’re having trouble,” said Brody. “She thinks it’s some sort of divine retribution.”

Quint smiled. “Might be. He made the damn thing, I suppose He can tell it what to do.”

“You serious?”

“No, not really. I don’t put much stock in religion.”

“So why do you think people have been killed.”

“Bad luck.” Quint pulled back on the throttle. The boat slowed and settled in the swells. “We’ll try to change it.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, read the notes, and sighting along his outstretched arm, checked his bearings. He turned the ignition key, and the engine died. There was a weight, a thickness, to the sudden silence. “Okay, Hooper,” he said. “Start chuckin’ the shit overboard.”

Hooper took the top off the chum bucket and began to ladle the contents into the sea. The first ladleful spattered on the still water, and slowly the oily smear spread westward.

By ten o’clock a breeze had come up — not strong, but fresh enough to ripple the water and cool the men, who sat and watched and said nothing. The only sound was the regular splash as Hooper poured chum off the stern.

Brody sat in the fighting chair, struggling to stay awake. He yawned, then recalled that he had left the half-read copy of The Deadly Virgin in a magazine rack below. He stood, stretched, and went down the three steps into the cabin. He found the book and started topside again, when his eye caught the ice chest. He looked at his watch and said to himself, the hell with it; there’s no time out here.

“I’m going to have a beer,” he called. “Anybody want one?”

“No,” said Hooper.

“Sure,” said Quint. “We can shoot at the cans.”

Brody took two beers from the chest, removed the metal tabs, and started to climb the stairs. His foot was on the top step when he heard Quint’s flat, calm voice say, “There he is.”