Free White Shark by Peter Benchley Page A

thrashing it had rolled up into the steel leader and then into the line
itself, and now it was circled with monofilament strands that pressed into its
flesh.   It lolled on its side, perhaps
resting for a final, futile attempt to escape, perhaps already resigned to
death.
    Chase swam to it, staying away from the
snarls of line until he was within arm's reach of the tail of the shark.
    He had never before swum in the open with
a great white shark.   He had seen them
from the safety of a cage, had touched their tails as they swept by the bars in
pursuit of hanging baits, had marveled at their power, but he had never been
alone in the sea with this ultimate predator.
    He permitted himself a moment to run his
hand down the steel-smooth skin of the back, then backward against the grain of
the dermal denticles, which felt like rubbing sandpaper.   He found his tagging dart and its tiny
transmitter, still securely set in the skin behind the dorsal fin.   Then he leaned over the shark; its eye gazed
at him with neither fear nor hostility, but with a blank and fathomless neutrality.
    There were six loops around the shark —
one of steel, five of monofilament — starting just forward of the tail, ending
just forward of the pectoral fins.   Chase
hovered above the shark, nearly lying upon its back, took the wire cutters from
his belt and cut the loops one by one.   As each muscle group in the torpedo-like body sensed freedom, it began
to shudder and ripple.   When the last
loop was gone, the shark swung downward, suspended only by the wire in it mouth
that led to the hook deep within its belly.   Chase reached his hand into the mouth of the shark and snipped the wire.
    The shark was free.   It began to fall, upside down, and for a
moment Chase feared that it had died, that the lack of forward motion had
deprived it of oxygen and it had asphyxiated.   But then the tail swept once from side to side, the shark rolled over
and its mouth opened as water rushed over its gills.   It turned in a circle, its eye fixed on Chase, and rose toward him.
    It came slowly, relentlessly, unexcited,
unafraid, its mouth half open, its tail thrusting it forward.
    Chase did not turn or flee or
backpedal.   He faced the shark and
watched its eyes, knowing that the only warning he would have of an imminent
attack would be the rotating of its eyeballs, an instinctive protection against
the teeth or claws of its victim.
    He heard his temples pounding and felt
arrows of adrenaline shooting through his limbs.
    The shark came on, face-to-face, until it
was four feet from Chase, then suddenly rolled on its side, presenting its
snow-white belly distended with young, and angled downward, like a banking fighter
plane, disappearing into the blue-green depths.
    Chase watched until the shark was
gone.   Then he surfaced, snatched a few
gasping breaths and made his way back to the boat.   He pulled himself out of the water, and as he
sat on the swimstep to remove his flippers, he noticed that the pulpit of the
Institute boat was hovering over the hull of the outboard.   He hard Tall Man
say, "So, we got a deal, right?   The
story is, you hooked the shark, saw that it was tagged and reported it to
us.   We tell the papers what fine
citizens you are."
    The sullen boys stood in the stern of the
outboard, and one of them said, "Yeah, okay..."
    Tall Man looked down, saw that Chase was
aboard, then put the boat in reverse.   "Thanks," he called to the boys.
    Chase passed Max his flippers and climbed
up through the door in the transom.
    Max looked angry.   "That was really dumb, Dad," he
said.   "You could've—"
    "It was a calculated risk, Max,"
Chase said.   "That's what dealing
with wild animals is.   I was pretty sure
she wouldn't bite me; I made a judgment that the risk was worth taking, to save
the life of that mama shark."
    "But suppose you'd been wrong.   Is a shark's life worth as much as
yours?"
    "That's not the point; the point is , I knew what