Jaws

In the few seconds while the fish was clear 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 hit the water in front of the fish. The third, to Brody’s horror, struck Hooper in the neck.

“Here, give me the goddam 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 God 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 God or nature or whatever the hell 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 suppressed the impulse and moved on to his car. 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 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 glass 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. God, 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, God 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 this town can be alive again is if we kill that thing.”