“He’s dead,” said Brody.

“Shit,” said Quint. “He’s stunned, maybe, but that’s all.” Quint took a glove from one of his hip pockets, slipped his right hand into it, and grabbed the wire line. From a sheath at his belt he took a knife. He lifted the shark’s head clear of the water and bent over the gunwale. The shark’s mouth was open two or three inches wide. Its right eye, partly covered by a white membrane, gazed blankly at Quint. Quint jammed the knife into the shark’s mouth and tried to pry it open farther, but the shark bit down, holding the blade in its small triangular teeth. Quint pulled and twisted until the knife came free. He put it back in its sheath and took a pair of wire cutters from his pocket.

“I guess you’re paying me enough so I can afford to lose a hook and a little leader,” he said. He touched the wire cutters to the leader and was about to snip it. “Wait a minute,” he said, putting the cutters back in his pocket and taking out his knife. “Watch this. This always gives the folks a boot.” Holding the leader in his left hand, he hoisted most of the shark out of the water. With a single swift motion he slit the shark’s belly from the anal fin to just below the jaw. The flesh pulled apart, and bloody entrails—white and red and blue—tumbled into the water like laundry falling from a basket. Then Quint cut the leader with the wire snips, and the shark slid overboard. As soon as its head was beneath the water, the shark began to thrash in the cloud of blood and innards, biting any morsel that passed into its maw. The body twitched as the shark swallowed, and pieces of intestines passed out the hole in the belly, to be eaten again.

“Now watch,” said Quint. “If we’re lucky, in a minute other blues’ll come around, and they’ll help him eat himself. If we get enough of them, there’ll be a real feeding frenzy. That’s quite a show. The folks like that.”

Brody watched, spellbound, as the shark continued to nibble at the floating guts. In a moment he saw a flash of blue rise from below. A small shark—no more than four feet long—snapped at the body of the disemboweled fish. Its jaws closed on a bit of flapping flesh. Its head shook violently from side to side, and its body trembled, snakelike. A piece of flesh tore away, and the smaller shark swallowed it. Soon another shark appeared, and another, and the water began to roil. Flecks of blood mingled with the drops of water that splashed on the surface.

Quint took a gaff from beneath the gunwale. He leaned overboard, holding the gaff poised like an ax. Suddenly he lunged and jerked backward. Impaled on the gaff hook, squirming and snapping, was a small shark. Quint took the knife from its sheath, slashed the shark’s belly, and released it. “Now you’ll see something,” he said.