“I don’t want to,” said Brody.

“It would be like a locomotive with a mouth full of butcher knives.”

“Are you saying this is just a baby?” Brody was beginning to feel lonely and vulnerable. A fish as large as what Hooper was describing could chew the boat to splinters.

“No, this is a mature fish,” said Hooper. “I’m sure of it. But it’s like people. Some people are five feet tall, some people are seven feet tall. Boy, what I’d give to have a look at a big megalodon.”

“You’re out of your mind,” said Brody.

“No, man, just think of it. It would be like finding the Abominable Snowman.”

“Hey, Hooper,” said Quint, “do you think you can stop the fairy tales and start throwing chum overboard? I’d kind of like to catch a fish.”

“Sure,” said Hooper. He returned to his post at the stern and began to ladle chum into the water.

“You think he’ll come back?” said Brody.

“I don’t know,” said Quint. “You never know what these bastards are going to do.” From a pocket he took a note pad and a pencil. He extended his left arm and pointed it toward shore. He closed his right eye and sighted down the index finger of his left hand, then scribbled something on the pad. He moved his hand a couple of inches to the left, sighted again, and made another note. Anticipating a question from Brody, Quint said, “Taking bearings. I want to see where we are, so if he doesn’t show up for the rest of today, I’ll know where to come tomorrow.”

Brody looked toward shore. Even shading his eyes and squinting, all he could see was a dim gray line of land. “What are you taking them on?”

“Lighthouse on the point and the water tower in town. They line up different ways depending where you are.”

“You can see them?” Brody strained his eyes, but he saw nothing more distinct than a lump in the line.

“Sure. You could too, if you’d been out here for thirty years.”

Hooper smiled and said, “Do you really think the fish will stay in one place?”

“I don’t know,” said Quint. “But this is where we found him this time, and we didn’t find him anywhere else.”

“And he sure as hell stayed around Amity,” said Brody.

“That’s because he had food,” said Hooper. There was no irony in his voice, no taunt. But the remark was like a needle stabbing into Brody’s brain.

They waited for three more hours, but the fish never returned. The tide slackened, carrying the slick ever slower.

At a little after five, Quint said, “We might as well go in. It’s enough to piss off the Good Humor man.”

“Where do you think he went?” said Brody. The question was rhetorical; he knew there was no answer.

“Anywhere,” said Quint. “When you want ’em, they’re never around. It’s only when you don’t want ’em, and don’t expect ’em, that they show up. Contrary fuckers.”