Insert - coiled rope and barrel

 

The rope snaps out in a blur of violent motion, Hooper jumps

back, and the barrel leaps out of its rack, pulled by the

line rigged to the harpoon. It bounds forward and into the

sea, past Quint, who is already reloading, mounting another

steel shaft. In the distance, the barrel bobs and skips

violently in the water, dragged by the shark in his merciless

moves.

 

THE FOREDECK - QUINT

 

QUINT

Now you've done it, you piss-ant.

Stop and rig a goddam tinker toy to

my gear. Let the bastard fight the

keg for a while. He can't stay down

with that on.

 

Hooper, furious with himself, runs for the flying bridge to

take the helm from Brody.

 

THE FLYING BRIDGE, BRODY AND HOOPER

 

Hooper has snatched the wheel, and is ramming the throttle

forward as he spins the wheel in a frantic 180 degree turn.

 

HOOPER

(to Quint)

Rig another keg! I'm bringing her

around!

 

His eyes dart about the ocean, looking for the barrel, as he

hot-dogs the ship around in a violent expression of his own

disgust with himself.

 

HOOPER

(to himself)

God damn it! We had him!

(to Quint)

I'm coming about!

 

He spins the wheel again, trying to make the big boat handle

like a formula speedster. The decks tip and the rigging sways

under the sudden strain. Brody is caught unaware, and tumbles

off his feet, sliding across the deck to fetch up against a

wall. the M1 Rifle is close to his hand. He stares at it.

 

FROM THE FLYING BRIDGE

 

Hooper is anguished, intense, trying to find the shark,

spinning the wheel, compounding his error, tipping the boat

in rolling turns as he crosses his own wake. Quint has turned

his back to the sea, and is in the pulpit looking up at

Hooper, staring at him, excluding everything else.

 

As Quint folds his arms and stares at Hooper, we realize the

sun is going down, and it's getting dark.

 

BRODY

Why don't we go in? Get another crack

at him tomorrow.

 

QUINT

We got a barrel on him. We can't

lose him. We stay out here until we

find him.

 

Hooper throttles back, and the roar of the diesels subsides

and the boat resumes an even keel, slowly circling the ocean.

 

BRODY

Let's call in -- we can radio and

have a big boat here in an hour...

 

QUINT

(grim)

You hired me, remember? It's my

$10,000. It's my shark...

 

EXT. ORCA - OPEN SEA - NIGHT

 

Throttled back to slow ahead, the boat circles the water

endlessly, staying over the shark like an avenging angel.

Its running lights gleam in the night, and a glow lights the

interior of the pilot house. A bright strobe glints on the

water winking once like a firefly.

 

INT. PILOT HOUSE - NIGHT

 

Brody and Hooper at the table, Quint at the wheel, keeping

his eye on the light.

 

QUINT

He's up again.

 

He corrects course slightly to keep the barrel buoy in sight.

 

Hooper is sitting at the table, morose. Brody is staring at

a couple of open cans of beans or beef stew, or some other

crappy rations Quint has on board. Dirty spoons stuck in the

open cans show us this has not been a formal dinner. Quint

fumbles on the chart shelf and produces some of his home

brew.

 

He takes a pull, and hands it to Hooper, who takes a double.

 

Brody touches the fresh abrasion on his forehead, where the

fishing rod caught him.

 

Quint bends forward and pulls his hair aside to show something

near the crown.

 

QUINT

That's not so bad. Look at this:

...St. Paddy's Day in Knocko Nolans,

in Boston, where some sunovabitch

winged me upside the head with a

spittoon.

 

Brody looks politely. Hooper stirs himself.

 

HOOPER

Look here.

(extends a forearm)

Steve Kaplan bit me during recess.

 

Quint is amused. He presents his own formidable forearm.

 

QUINT

Wire burn. Trying to stop a backstay

from taking my head off.

 

HOOPER

(rolling up a sleeve)

Moray Eel. Bit right through a wet

suit.

 

Brody is fascinated. Quint and Hooper take a long pull from

the bottle.

 

QUINT

Face and head scars come from amateur

amusements in the bar room. This

love line here...

(he bends an ear

forward)

...that's from some crazy Frenchie

come after me with a knife. I caught

him with a good right hand right in

the snot locker and laid him amongst

the sweetpeas.

 

HOOPER

Ever see one like this?

 

He hauls up his pants leg, revealing a wicked white scar.

 

HOOPER

Bull shark scraped me while I was

taking samples...

 

QUINT

Nothing! A pleasure scar. Look here --

 

He starts rolling up his own dirty pants leg.

 

QUINT

Slammed with a thresher's tail. Look

just like somebody caressed me with

a nutmeg grater...

 

Brody is drawn into their boasting comparisons. He secretly

checks his own appendix scar, decides not to enter the

contest.

 

HOOPER

I'll drink to your leg.

 

QUINT

And I'll drink to yours.

 

They toast each other. Brody looks around, sees the strobe

blink once through the darkened window.

 

QUINT

Wait a minute, young fella. Look.

Just look. Don't touch...

 

He starts lowering his pants to reveal a place on one hip

where the tissue is scarred and irregular.

 

QUINT

...Mako. Fell out of the tail rope

and onto the deck. You don't get

bitten by one of those bastards but

twice -- your first and your last.

 

HOOPER

(considerably drunker)

I think I can top that, Mister...

 

Hooper is pulling at his shirt, trying to get it off, but

it's tangling its sleeves, and won't come undone.

 

HOOPER

Gimme a hand, here. I got something

to show you --

 

Brody lends a hand. The shirt slips part way off.

 

HOOPER

(indicating his chest)

There. Right there. Mary Ellen Moffit

broke my heart. Let's drink to Mary

Ellen.

 

The two men raise their mugs in a toast.

 

QUINT

And here's to the ladies. And here's

to their sisters; I'd rather one

Miss than a shipload of Misters.

 

He drinks, Hooper follows.

 

QUINT

(shows belly)

Look a' that -- Bayonet Iwo Jima.

 

BRODY

(aside)

C'mon. Middle appendix --

 

QUINT

(aside)

I almost had 'im.

 

Brody is looking at a small white patch on Quint's other

forearm.

 

BRODY

(pointing)

What's that one, there?

 

QUINT

(changing)

Tattoo. Had it taken off.

 

HOOPER

Don't tell me -- 'Death Before

Dishonor.' 'Mother.' 'Semper Fi.'

Uhhh... 'Don't Tread on Me.' C'mon --

what?

 

QUINT

'U.S.S Indianapolis.' 1944.

 

BRODY

What's that, a ship?

 

HOOPER

(incredulous)

You were on the Indianapolis? In

'45? Jesus...

 

Quint remembering.

 

CLOSE ON QUINT

 

QUINT

Yeah. The U.S.S. Indianapolis.

June 29th, 1945, three and a half

minutes past midnight, two torpedoes

from a Japanese submarine slammed

into our side. Two or three. We was

still under sealed orders after

deliverin' the bomb...the Hiroshima

bomb...we was goin' back across the

Pacific from Tinian to Leyte. Damn

near eleven hundred men went over

the side. The life boats was lashed

down so tight to make the bomb run

we couldn't cut a single one adrift.

Not one. And there was no rafts.

None. That vessel sank in twelve

minutes. Yes, that's all she took.

We didn't see the first shark till

we'd been in the water about an hour.

A thirteen-footer near enough. A

blue. You measure that by judgin'

the dorsal to the tail. What we didn't

know... of course the Captain knew...I

guess some officers knew... was the

bomb mission had been so secret, no

distress signals was sent. What the

men didn't know was that they wouldn't

even list us as overdue for a week.

Well, I didn't know that -- I wasn't

an officer -- just as well perhaps.

So some of us were dead already --

in the water -- just hangin' limp in

our lifejackets. And several already

bleedin'. And the three hundred or

so laying on the bottom of the ocean.

As the light went, the sharks came

crusin'. We formed tight groups --

somewhat like squares in an old battle --

You know what I mean -- so that when

one come close, the man nearest would

yell and shout and pound the water

and sometimes it worked and the fish

turned away, but other times that

shark would seem to look right at a

man -- right into his eyes -- and in

spite of all shoutin' and poundin'

you'd hear that terrible high

screamin' and the ocean would go

red, then churn up as they ripped

him. Then we'd reform our little

squares. By the first dawn the sharks

had taken more than a hundred. Hard

for me to count but more than a

hundred. I don't know how many sharks.

Maybe a thousand. I do know they

averaged six men an hour. All kinds --

blues, makos, tigers. All kinds.

(Pause)

In the middle of the second day,

some of us started to go crazy from

the thirst. One fella cried out he

saw a river, another claimed he saw

a waterfall, some started to drink

the ocean and choked on it, and some

left our little groups -- our little

squares -- and swam off alone lookin'

for islands and the sharks always

took them right away. It was mainly

the young fellas that did that --

the older ones stayed where they

was. That second day -- my life jacket

rubbed me raw and that was more blood

in the water. Oh my. On Thursday

morning I bumped up against a friend

of mine -- Herbie Robinson from

Cleveland -- a bosun's mate -- it

seemed he was asleep but when I

reached over to waken him, he bobbed

in the water and I saw his body upend

because he'd been bitten in half

beneath the waist. Well Chief, so it

went on -- bombers high overhead but

nobody noticin' us. Yes -- suicides,

sharks, and all this goin' crazy and

dyin' of thirst. Noon the fifth day,

Mr. Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura swung

around and came in low. Yes. He did

that. Yes, that pilot saw us. And

early evenin', a big fat PBY come

down out of the sky and began the

pickup. That was when I was most

frightened of all -- while I was

waitin' for my turn. Just two and a

half hours short of five days and

five nights when they got to me and

took me up. Eleven hundred of us

went into that ocean -- three hundred

and sixteen got out. Yeah. Nineteen

hundred and forty five. June the

29th.

(pause)

Anyway, we delivered the bomb.

 

EXT. OCEAN - NIGHT

 

Quint has just finished his story, and we are looking across

the quiet night sea to the Orca slowly circling in the night,

the warm light in the pilot house barely revealing the figures

of the three men inside, the red and green running lights

winking along the ship's flanks. We hear the distant boom

and drawn-out hoot of a whale.