Jaws Part 28

"Or gets chewed through," said Quint.

Hooper looked at Quint and smiled. "Thanks for the thought." Quint and Brody pulled on the ropes, and the cage rose in the water. When the hatch broke the surface, Hooper said, "Okay, right there." He spat in the face mask, rubbed the saliva around on the gla.s.s, and fit the mask over his face. He reached for the regulator tube, put the mouthpiece in his mouth, and took a breath. Then he bent over the gunwale, unlatched the top of the hatch and flipped it open. He started to put a knee on the gunwale, but stopped. He took the mouthpiece out of his mouth and said, "I forgot something." His nose was encased in the mask, so his voice sounded thick and nasal. He walked across the deck and picked up his trousers. He rummaged through the pockets until he found what he was looking for. He unzipped his wet-suit jacket.

"What's that?" said Brody.

Hooper held up a shark's tooth, rimmed in silver. It was a duplicate of the one he had given Ellen. He dropped it inside his wet suit and zipped up the jacket. "Can't be too careful," he said, smiling. He crossed the deck again, put his mouthpiece in his mouth, and kneeled on the gunwale. He took a final breath and dove overboard through the open hatch. Brody watched him go, wondering if he really wanted to know the truth about Hooper and Ellen.

Hooper stopped himself before he hit the bottom of the cage. He curled around and stood up. He reached out the top of the hatch and pulled it closed. Then he looked up at Brody, put the thumb and index finger of his left hand together in the okay sign, and ducked down.

(119)

"I guess we can let go," said Brody. They released the ropes and let the cage descend until the hatch was about four feet beneath the surface.

"Get the rifle," said Quint. "It's on the rack below. It's all loaded." He climbed onto the transom and lifted the harpoon to his shoulder.

Brody went below, found the rifle, and hurried back on deck. He opened the breach and slid a cartridge into the chamber. "How much air does he have?" he said.

"I don't know," said Quint. "However much he has, I doubt he'll live to breathe it."

"Maybe you're right. But you said yourself you never know what these fish will do."

"Yeah, but this is different. This is like putting your hand in a fire and hoping you won't get burned. A sensible man don't do it."

Below, Hooper waited until the bubbly froth of his descent had dissipated. There was water in his mask, so he tilted his head backward, pressed on the top of the faceplate, and blew through his nose until the mask was dear. He felt serene. It was the pervasive sense of freedom and ease that he always felt when he dived. He was alone in blue silence speckled with shafts of sunlight that danced through the water. The only sounds were those he made breathing --a deep, hollow noise as he breathed in, a soft thudding of bubbles as he exhaled. He held his breath, and the silence was complete. Without weights, he was too buoyant, and he had to hold on to the bars to keep his tank from clanging against the hatch overhead. He turned around and looked up at the hull of the boat, a gray body that sat above him, bouncing slowly. At first, the cage annoyed him. It confined him, restricted him, prevented him from enjoying the grace of underwater movement. But then he remembered why he was there, and he was grateful. He looked for the fish. He knew it couldn't be sitting beneath the boat, as Quint had thought. It could not "sit" anywhere, could not rest or stay still. It had to move to survive.

Even with the bright sunlight, the visibility in the murky water was poor --no more than forty feet. Hooper turned slowly around, trying to pierce the edge of gloom and grasp any sliver of color or movement. He looked beneath the boat, where the water turned from blue to gray to black. Nothing. He looked at his watch, calculating that if he controlled his breathing, he could stay down for at least half an hour more. Carried by the tide, one of the small white squid slipped between the bars of the cage and, tethered by twine, fluttered in Hooper's face. He pushed it out of the cage. He glanced downward, started to look away, then snapped his eyes down again. Rising at him from the darkling blue --slowly, smoothly --was the shark. It rose with no apparent effort, an angel of death gliding toward an appointment foreordained. Hooper stared, enthralled, impelled to flee but unable to move. As the fish drew nearer, he marveled at its colors: the flat brown-grays seen on the surface had vanished. The top of the immense body was a hard ferrous gray, bluish where dappled with streaks of sun. Beneath the lateral line, all was creamy, ghostly white. Hooper wanted to raise his camera, but his arm would not obey. In a minute, he said to himself, in a minute.

The fish came closer, silent as a shadow, and Hooper drew back. The head was only a few feet from the cage when the fish turned and began to pa.s.s before Hooper's eyes --casually, as if in proud display of its incalculable ma.s.s and power. The snout pa.s.sed first, then the jaw, slack and smiling, armed with row upon row of serrate triangles. And then the black, fathomless eye, seemingly riveted upon him. The gills rippled --bloodless wounds in the steely skin.

Tentatively, Hooper stuck a hand through the bars and touched the flank. It felt cold and hard, not clammy but smooth as vinyl. He let his fingertips caress the flesh --past the pectoral fins, the pelvic fin, the thick, firm genital claspers --until finally (the fish seemed to have no end) they were slapped away by the sweeping tail. The fish continued to move away from the cage. Hooper heard faint popping (120) noises, and he saw three straight spirals of angry bubbles speed from the surface, then slow and stop, well above the fish. Bullets. Not yet, he told himself. One more pa.s.s for pictures. The fish began to turn, banking, the rubbery pectoral fins changing pitch.

"What the h.e.l.l is he doing down there?" said Brody. "Why didn't he jab him with the gun?"

Quint didn't answer. He stood on the transom, harpoon clutched in his fist, peering into the water. "Come up, fish," he said. "Come to Quint."

"Do you see it?" said Brody. "What's it doing?"

"Nothing. Not yet, anyway."

The fish had moved off to the limit of Hooper's vision --a spectral silver-gray blur tracing a slow circle. Hooper raised his camera and pressed the trigger. He knew the film would be worthless unless the fish moved in once more, but he wanted to catch the beast as it emerged from the darkness.

Through the viewfinder he saw the fish turn toward him. It moved fast, tail thrusting vigorously, mouth opening and closing as if gasping for breath. Hooper raised his right hand to change the focus. Remember to change it again, he told himself, when it turns.

But the fish did not turn. A shiver traveled the length of its body as it closed on the cage. It struck the cage head on, the snout ramming between two bars and spreading them. The snout hit Hooper in the chest and knocked him backward. The camera flew from his hands, and the mouthpiece shot from his mouth. The fish turned on its side, and the pounding tail forced the great body farther into the cage. Hooper groped for his mouthpiece but couldn't find it. His chest was convulsed with the need for air.

"It's attacking!" screamed Brody. He grabbed one of the tether ropes and pulled, desperately trying to raise the cage.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n your f.u.c.king soul!" Quint shouted.

"Throw it! Throw it!"

"I can't throw it! I gotta get him on the surface! Come up, you devil! You p.r.i.c.k!"

The fish slid backward out of the cage and turned sharply to the right in a tight circle. Hooper reached behind his head, found the regulator tube, and followed it with his hand until he located the mouthpiece. He put it in his mouth and, forgetting to exhale first, sucked for air. He got water, and he gagged and choked until at last the mouthpiece cleared and he drew an agonized breath. It was then that he saw the wide gap in the bars and saw the giant head lunging through it. He raised his hands above his head, grasping at the escape hatch.

The fish rammed through the s.p.a.ce between the bars, spreading them still farther with each thrust of its tail. Hooper, flattened against the back of the cage, saw the mouth reaching, straining for him. He remembered the power head, and he tried to lower his right arm and grab it. The fish thrust again, and Hooper saw with the terror of doom that the mouth was going to reach him.

The jaws dosed around his torso. Hooper felt a terrible pressure, as if his guts were being compacted. He jabbed his fist into the black eye. The fish bit down, and the last thing Hooper saw before he died was the eye gazing at him through a cloud of his own blood.

"He's got him!" cried Brody. "Do something!"

"The man is dead," Quint said.

"How do you know? We may be able to save him."

"He is dead."

Holding Hooper in its mouth, the fish backed out of the cage. It sank a few feet, chewing, swallowing the viscera that were squeezed into its gullet. Then it shuddered and thrust forward with its tail, driving itself and prey upward in the water.

"He's coming up!" said Brody.

"Grab the rifle!" Quint c.o.c.ked his hand for the throw. The fish broke water fifteen feet from the boat, surging upward in a shower of spray. Hooper's body protruded from each side of the mouth, head and arms hanging (121) limply down one side, knees, calves, and feet from the other. In the few seconds while the fish was dear of the water, Brody thought he saw Hooper's glazed, dead eyes staring open through his face mask. As if in contempt and triumph, the fish hung suspended for an instant, challenging mortal vengeance. Simultaneously, Brody reached for the rifle and Quint cast the harpoon. The target was huge, a field of white belly, and the distance was not too great for a successful throw above water. But as Quint threw, the fish began to slide down in the water, and the iron went high.

For another instant, the fish remained on the surface, its head out of water, Hooper hanging from its mouth.

"Shoot!" Quint yelled. "For Christ sake, shoot!" Brody shot without aiming. The first two shots. .h.i.t the water in front of the fish.

The third, to Brody's horror, struck Hooper in the neck.

"Here, give me the G.o.ddam thing!" said Quint, grabbing the rifle from Brody. In a single, quick motion he raised the rifle to his shoulder and squeezed off two shots. But the fish, with a last, vacant gaze, had already begun to slip beneath the surface. The bullets plopped harmlessly into the swirl where the head had been. The fish might never have been there. There was no noise, save the whisper of a breeze. From the surface the cage seemed undamaged. The water was calm. The only difference was that Hooper was gone.

"What do we do now?" said Brody. "What in the name of G.o.d can we do now?

There's nothing left. We might as well go back."

"We'll go back," said Quint. "For now."

"For now? What do you mean? There's nothing we can do. The fish is too much for us. It's not real, not natural."

"Are you beaten, man?"

"I'm beaten. All we can do is wait until G.o.d or nature or whatever the h.e.l.l is doing this to us decides we've had enough. It's out of man's hands."

"Not mine," said Quint. "I am going to kill that thing."

"I'm not sure I can get any more money after what happened today."

"Keep your money. This is no longer a matter of money."

"What do you mean?" Brody looked at Quint, who was standing at the stern, looking at the spot where the fish's head had been, as if he expected it to reappear at any moment clutching the shredded corpse in its mouth. He searched the sea, craving another confrontation.

Quint said to Brody, "I am going to kill that fish. Come if you want. Stay home if you want. But I am going to kill that fish."

As Quint spoke, Brody looked into his eyes. They seemed as dark and bottomless as the eye of the fish.

"I'll come," said Brody. "I don't guess I have any choice."

"No," said Quint. "We have no choice." He took his knife from its sheath and handed it to Brody. "Here. Cut that cage loose and let's get out of here." When the boat was tied up at the dock, Brody walked toward his car. At the end of the dock there was a phone booth, and he stopped beside it, prompted by his earlier resolve to call Daisy Wicker. But he sup-pressed the impulse and moved on to his ear. What's the point? he thought. If there was anything, it's over now. Still, as he drove toward Amity, Brody wondered what Ellen's reaction had been when the Coast Guard had called her with the news of Hooper's death. Quint had radioed the Coast Guard before they started in, and Brody had asked the duty officer to phone Ellen and tell her that he, at least, was all right.

By the time Brody arrived home, Ellen had long since finished crying. She had wept mechanically, angrily, grieving not so much for Hooper as in hopelessness and bitterness at yet another death. She had been sadder at the disintegration of Larry Vaughan than she was now, for Vaughan had been a dear and close friend. Hooper had been a "lover" in only the most shallow sense of the word. She had not loved him. She (122) had used him, and though she was grateful for what he had given her, she felt no obligation to him. She was sorry he was dead, of course, just as she would have been sorry to hear that his brother, David, had died. In her mind they were both now relics of her distant past.

She heard Brody's car pull into the driveway, and she opened the back door. Lord, he looks whipped, she thought as she watched him walk toward the house. His eyes were red and sunken, and he seemed slightly hunched as he walked. She kissed him at the door and said, "You look like you could use a drink."

"That I could." He went into the living room and flopped into a chair.

"What would you like?"

"Anything. Just so long as it's strong."

She went into the kitchen, filled a gla.s.s with equal portions of vodka and orange juice, and brought it to him. She sat on the arm of his chair and ran her hand over his head. She smiled and said, "There's your bald spot. It's been so long since I touched your bald spot that I'd forgotten it was there."

"I'm surprised there's any hair left at all. Christ, I'll never be as old as I feel today."

"I'll bet. Well, it's over now."

"I wish it was," said Brody. "I truly do wish it was."

"What do you mean?' It is over, isn't it? There's nothing more you can do."

"We're going out tomorrow. Six o'clock."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was."

"Why?" Ellen was stunned. "What do you think you can do?"

"Catch the fish. And kill it."

"Do you believe that?"

"I'm not sure. But Quint believes it. G.o.d, how he believes it."

"Then let him go. Let him get killed."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's my job."

"It is not your job!" She was furious, and scared, and tears began to well behind her eyes.

Brody thought for a moment and said, "No, you're right."

"Then why?"

"I don't think I can tell you. I don't think I know."

"Are you trying to prove something?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I didn't feel this way before. After Hooper was killed, I was ready to give it up."

"What changed your mind?"

"Quint, I guess."

"You mean you're letting him tell you what to do?"

"No. He didn't tell me anything. It's a feeling. I can't explain it. But giving up isn't an answer. It doesn't put an end to anything."

"Why is an end so important?"

"Different reasons, I think. Quint feels that if he doesn't kill the fish, everything he believes in is wrong."

"And you?"

Brody tried to smile. "Me, I guess I'm just a screwed-up cop."

"Don't joke with me!" Ellen cried, and tears spilled out of her eyes. "What about me and the children? Do you want to get killed?"

"No, G.o.d no. It's just..."

"You think it's all your fault. You think you're responsible."

"Responsible for what?"

"For that little boy and the old man. You think killing the shark will make everything all right again. You want revenge."

Brody sighed. "Maybe I do. I don't know. I feel... I believe that the only way (123) this town can be alive again is if we kill that thing."

"And you're willing to get killed trying to --"

"Don't be stupid! I'm not willing to get killed. I'm not even willing --if that's the word you want to use --to go out in that G.o.ddam boat. You think I like it out there? I'm so scared every minute I'm out there I want to puke."

"Then why go?" She was pleading with him, begging. "Can't you ever think of anybody but yourself?"