Jaws

gun-wale — go limp. “There’s another one,” he said. He stood and walked to the gunwale and pulled in the line. “He must be right underneath us.”

Quint said, “Anybody care to go swimming?”

“Let’s put the cage overboard,” said Hooper.

“You’re kidding,” said Brody.

“No, I’m not. It might bring him out.”

“With you in it?”

“Not at first. Let’s see what he does. What do you say, Quint?”

“Might as well,” said Quint. “Can’t hurt just to put it in the water, and you paid for it.” He put down the harpoon, and he and Hooper walked to the cage.

They tipped the cage onto its side, and Hooper opened the top hatch and crawled through it. He removed the scuba tank, regulator, face mask, and neoprene wet suit, and set them on the deck. They tipped the cage upright again and slid it across the deck to the starboard gunwale. “You got a couple of lines?” said Hooper. “I want to make it fast to the boat.” Quint went below and returned with two coils of rope. They tied one to an after cleat, one to a cleat amidships, then secured the ends to the bars on top of the cage. “Okay,” said Hooper. “Let’s put her over.” They lifted the cage, tipped it backward, and pushed it overboard. It sank until the ropes stopped it, a few feet beneath the surface. There it rested, rising and falling slowly in the swells. The three men stood at the gunwale, looking into the water.

“What makes you think this’ll bring him up?” said Brody.

“I didn’t say ‘up,’” said Hooper. “I said ‘out.’ I think he’ll come out and have a look at it, to see whether he wants to eat it.”

“That won’t do us any damn good,” said Quint. “I can’t stick him if he’s twelve feet under water.”

“Once he comes out,” said Hooper, “maybe he’ll come up. We’re not having any luck with anything else.”

But the fish did not come out. The cage lay quietly in the water, unmolested.

“There goes another squid,” said Quint, pointing forward. “He’s there, all right.” He leaned overboard and shouted, “God damn you, fish! Come out where I can have a shot at you.”

After fifteen minutes, Hooper said, “Oh well,” and went below. He reappeared moments later, carrying a movie camera in a waterproof housing, and what looked to Brody like a walking stick with a thong at one end.

“What are you doing?” Brody said.

“I’m going down there. Maybe that’ll bring him out.”

“You’re out of your goddam mind. What are you going to do if he does come out?”

“First, I’m going to take some pictures of him. Then I’m going to try to kill him.”

“With what, may I ask?”

“This.” Hooper held up the stick.

“Good thinking,” Quint said with a derisive cackle. “If that doesn’t work you can tickle him to death.”

“What is that?” said Brody.

“Some people call it a bang stick. Others call it a power head. Anyway, it’s basically an underwater gun.” He pulled both ends of the stick, and it came apart in two pieces. “In here,” he said, pointing to a chamber at the point where the stick had come apart, “you put a twelve-gauge shotgun shell.” He took a shotgun shell from his pocket and pushed it into the chamber, then rejoined the two ends of the stick. “Then, when you get close enough to the fish, you jab it at him and the shell goes off. If you hit him right — in the brain’s the only sure place — you kill him.”

“Even a fish that big?”

“I think so. If I hit him right.”

“And if you don’t? Suppose you miss by just a hair.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“I would be, too,” said Quint. “I don’t think I’d like five thousand pounds of pissed-off dinosaur trying to eat me.”

“That’s not my worry,” said Hooper. “What concerns me is that if I miss, I might drive him off. He’d probably sound, and we’d never know if he died or not.”

“Until he ate someone else,” said Brody.

“That’s right.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” said Quint.

“Am I, Quint? You’re not having much success with this fish. We could stay here all month and let him eat your bait right out from under us.”

“He’ll come up,” said Quint. “Mark my words.”

“You’ll be dead of old age before he comes up, Quint. I think this fish has you all shook. He’s not playing by the rules.”

Quint looked at Hooper and said evenly, “You telling me my business, boy?”

“No. But I am telling you I think this fish is more than you can handle.”

“That right, boy? You think you can do better ’n Quint?”

“Call it that if you want. I think I can kill the fish.”

“Fine and dandy. You’re gonna get your chance.”

Brody said, “Come on. We can’t let him go in that thing.”

“What are you bitchin’ about?” said Quint. “From what I seen, you just as soon he went down there and never come up. At least that’d stop him from—”

“Shut your mouth!” Brody’s emotions were jumbled. Part of him didn’t care whether Hooper lived or died — might even relish the prospect of Hooper’s death. But such vengeance would be hollow — and quite possibly, unmerited. Could he really wish a man dead? No. Not yet.

“Go on,” Quint said to Hooper. “Get in that thing.”

“Right away.” Hooper removed his shirt, sneakers, and trousers, and began to pull the neoprene suit over his legs. “When I’m inside,” he said, forcing his arms into the rubber sleeves of the jacket, “stand up here and keep an eye. Maybe you can use the rifle if he gets close enough to the surface.” He looked at Quint. “You can be ready with the harpoon… if you want to.”

“I’ll do what I’ll do,” said Quint. “You worry about yourself.”

When he was dressed, Hooper fit the regulator onto the neck of the air tank, tightened the wing nut that held it in place, and opened the air valve. He sucked two breaths from the tank to make sure it was feeding air. “Help me put this on, will you?” he said to Brody.

Brody lifted the tank and held it while Hooper slipped his arms through the straps and fastened a third strap around his middle. He put the face mask on his head. “I should have brought weights,” said Hooper.

Quint said, “You should have brought brains.”

Hooper put his right wrist through the thong at the end of the power head, picked up the camera with his right hand, and said, “Okay.” He walked to the gunwale. “If you’ll each take a rope and pull, that’ll bring the cage to the surface. Then I’ll open the hatch and go in through the top, and you can let the ropes go. It’ll hang by the ropes. I won’t use the flotation tanks unless one of the ropes breaks.”

“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 glass, 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