outboard motor off his dinghy. He only spat it out ’cause he couldn’t get it down in one swallow.”
From the stern, where he was ladling chum, Hooper said, “What’s something special, Quint?”
“You mean that special treat he can’t turn down?” Quint smiled and pointed to a green plastic garbage can nestled in a comer amidships. “Take a look for yourself. It’s in that can. I’ve been saving it for a fish like the one we’re after. On anything else it’d be a waste.”
Hooper walked over to the can, flipped the metal clasps off the sides, and lifted the top. His shock at what he saw made him gasp. Floating vertically in the can full of water, its lifeless head swaying gently with the motion of the boat, was a tiny bottle-nosed dolphin; no more than two feet long. Sticking out from a puncture on the underside of the jaw was the eye of a huge shark hook, and from a hole in the belly the barbed hook itself curled forward. Hooper clutched the sides of the can and said, “A baby.”
“Even better,” Quint said with a grin. “Unborn.”
Hooper gazed into the can for a few more seconds, then slammed the top back on and said, “Where did you get it?”
“Oh, I guess about six miles from here, due east. Why?”
“I mean how did you get it?”
“How do you think? From the mother.”
“You killed her.”
“No.” Quint laughed. “She jumped into the boat and swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills.” He paused, waiting for a laugh, and when none came he said, “You can’t rightly buy them, you know.”
Hooper stared at Quint. He was furious, outraged. But he said only, “You know they’re protected.”
“When I fish, son, I catch what I want.”
“But what about laws? Don’t—”
“What’s your line of work, Hooper?”
“I’m an ichthyologist. I study fish. That’s why I’m here. Didn’t you know that?”
“When people charter my boat, I don’t ask questions about them. But okay, you study fish for a living. If you had to work for a living — I mean the kind of work where the amount of money you make depends on the amount of sweat you put in — you’d know more about what laws really mean. Sure, those porpoise are protected. But that law wasn’t put in to stop Quint from taking one or two for bait. It was meant to stop big-time fishing for them, to stop nuts from shooting them for sport. So I’ll tell you what, Hooper: You can bitch and moan all you want. But don’t tell Quint he can’t catch a few fish to help him make a living.”
“Look, Quint, the point is that these dolphins are in danger of being wiped out, extinguished. And what you’re doing speeds up the process.”
“Don’t give me that horseshit! Tell the tuna boats to stop snaring porpoise in their nets. Tell the Jap longliners to stop hookin’ ’em. They’ll tell you to go take a flying fuck at the moon. They got mouths to feed. Well, so do I. Mine.”
“I get your message,” said Hooper. “Take it while you can, and if after a while there’s nothing left, why, we’ll just start taking something else. It’s so stupid!”
“Don’t overstep, son,” said Quint. His voice was flat, toneless, and he looked directly into Hooper’s eyes.
“What?”
“Don’t go calling me stupid.”
Hooper hadn’t intended to give offense, and he was surprised to find offense taken. “I didn’t mean that, for God’s sake. I just meant…”
On his perch midway between the two men, Brody decided it was time to stop the argument. “Let’s drop it, Hooper, okay?” he said. “We’re not out here to have a debate on ecology.”
“What do you know about ecology, Brody?” said Hooper. “I bet all it means to you is someone telling you you can’t burn leaves in your back yard.”
“Listen, you. I don’t need any of your two-bit, rich-kid bullshit.”
“So that’s it! ‘Rich-kid bullshit.’ That rich-kid stuff really burns your ass, doesn’t it?”
“Listen, damn you! We’re out here to stop a fish from killing people, and if using one porpoise will help us save God knows how many lives, that seems to me a pretty good bargain.”
Hooper smirked and said to Brody, “So now you’re an expert on saving lives, are you? Let’s see. How many could have been saved if you’d closed the beaches after the…”
Brody was on his feet moving at Hooper before he consciously knew he had left his chair. “You shut your mouth!” he said. Reflexively, he dropped his right hand to his hip. He stopped short when he felt no holster at his side, seared by the sudden realization that if he had had a pistol he might have used it. He stood facing Hooper, who glowered back at him.
A quick, sharp laugh from Quint broke the thread of tension. “What a pair of assholes,” he said. “I seen that coming since you came aboard this morning.”
TWELVE
The second day of the hunt was as still as the first. When they left the dock at six in the morning, a light southwest breeze was blowing, promising to cool the day. The passage around Montauk Point was choppy. But by ten the breeze had died, and the boat lay motionless on the glassy sea, like a paper cup in a puddle. There were no clouds, but the sun was dulled by a heavy haze. Driving to the dock, Brody had heard on the radio that the pollution in New York City had reached a crisis stage — something about an air inversion. People were falling sick, and of those who were sick already, or very old, some were dying.
Brody had dressed more sensibly today. He wore a white, short-sleeved shirt with a high collar, light cotton trousers, white socks, and sneakers. He had brought a book along to pass the time, a sex mystery borrowed from Hendricks, called
Brody did not want to have to fill time with conversation, conversation that might lead to a repeat of yesterday’s scene with Hooper. It had embarrassed him — Hooper, too, he thought. Today they seldom spoke to one another, directing most of their comments at Quint. Brody did not trust himself to feign civility with Hooper.
Brody had observed that in the mornings, Quint was quiet — tight and reserved. Words had to be wrung from him. But as the day wore on, he loosened up and became more and more loquacious. As they had left the dock that morning, for instance, Brody had asked Quint how he knew what spot to pick to wait for the fish.
“Don’t,” said Quint.
“You don’t know?”
Quint moved his head once from left to right, then back again.
“Then how do you choose a place?”
“Just choose one.”
“What do you look for?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t go by the tide?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Does it matter whether the water’s deep or shallow?”
“Some.”
“How so?”
For a moment, Brody thought Quint would refuse to answer. He stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the horizon. Then he said, as if it were a supreme effort, “Big fish like that probably won’t be in too shallow water. But you never know.”
Brody knew he should drop the subject and leave Quint in peace, but he was interested, so he asked another question. “If we find that fish, or if he finds us, it’ll be luck, won’t it?”
“Sort of.”
“Like a needle in a haystack.”
