manofthesea

As a youth, Mike Quint loved anything and everything about the sea. Heloved the way the sun shone on the water, the way it glistened and sparkled...he loved the sound of the seagulls flying overhead, thier plaintive cry as they called to each other...he loved the smell of the salt water, the fish inside it, the roar of the waves...the lulling way a boat would rock with the ripples of the waves, the sound of a ships bell in the distance...the sound of a foghorn.
   Both his father and his grandfather were seamen and had brought him tales of the sea that fascinated him into a sense of fantasy every time he heard one. Little Mike would lie in his bed of a night and dream of being a Captain on his own vessel, sailing to ports all over the world. He could barely wait for the day when he would be old enough to have his own boat and go sailing...everyday, he saved for his dream, collecting old soda pop bottles and turning them in for the deposits - a penny here, a penny there - one day he found a whole nickle! He would carefully hoard every cent he could lay his hands upon and put it into the little metal bank that his grandmother had given him on his seventh birthday, the bank shaped like the Navy ship that his grandfather had commanded in the first world war and then hide the ship-bank beneath a blanket in the floor of his closet. This money was going to be the money that he would use, when he got older, to buy his own boat. He figured that he would have plenty enough money, if he continued to save every cent, to purchase his own boat when he got old enough to have one of his very own.
   When Mike turned 14, he had over one hundred dollars saved. He knew this wasnt going to be near enough, so, everyday, after school, he would pay a visit to every business establishment in town, looking for a job so that he could start making more money to save for his dream.
   Although the business owners were usually receptive to Mike Quints dream, there was trouble in Europe brewing and the economy was getting tighter...no one could find anything for him to do for them, no jobs available anywhere.
   However, Mikes persistence paid off. In October of 1941, Mike landed himself a job in Talmans soda fountain after school everyday. Pete Talman, the proprietor, had been an ex-Marine sargent and was now doing volunteer work at the local recruiting station down the street and needed someone to take over for him in the afternoons. Thats where Mike Quint found his break.
   He was to be paid thirty cents an hour, plus tips and all the sodas he could consume (which, after the first two days, he had drank so many of them that the mere sight of one made his stomach churn). He was a handsome, outgoing young man who became very popular, quite quickly...mostly with the local girls. He was soon making more money in tips than he was getting from Mr. Talman. He had quickly discovered that, if he flirted back with the girls who would giggle and stare at him all afternoon, the more tip money they would leave him, so he quickly developed his own style of charm and flattery that would have the girls swooning over him like bee's to a honeycomb. And it didnt hurt, either, that he had lovely blue eyes and a soft, charming voice and a bright, flashy smile, along with the softest looking reddish-blond curls that the girls would have given thier eye-teeth to have the opportunity to run thier fingers through!


   But in the early morning of december the 7th, 1941, as the sun was just beginning to rise on the small island of Oahu, Hawii, thousands of miles from Mike Quints home on the smaller island of Amity, just off the Massachussettes coast, a fleet of Japanese naval air forces were taking off from thier respective air craft carriers in various locations in the Pacific ocean. Just as many of the Oahu islanders were waking up for breakfast, the Japanese air fleet hit Oahu with a vengeance. No had been prepared for what was happening...President Franklin Delanor Roosevelt had been pleading with Japan for peace for many weeks and all had seemed calm.
   Pearl Harbor, the United States center for military action in the Pacific ocean, was almost completely destroyed by the suprise Japanese attack. Anger toward the Japanese spread quickly throughout the entire country and it was this anger that led America into world war two. And, four days later, on december 11th, Germany and Italy also decalred war on the U.S., bringing about a global conflict.
   Mike Quint wanted desperately to join the service, but, even though every able bodied man had been called to action, he just wasnt old enough to qualify at age 14. He had begged and pleaded with Mr. Talman to forge induction documents so that he could go to sea on a warship, but that wasnt to be. Mr. Talman did, however, tell Mike that, the minute he turned 17, with his grandparents signatures, he would usher him right through and get him onto that warship, even though Mr. Talman was personally convinced that the war would not last that long.
   Mike didnt stop with Mr. Talman. In fact, Mr. Talman was his last hope. Mike had first went to the Naval recruiting station. But Mike tried everything to get himself inducted...including coloring his hair and sporting a false moustache. He was desperate to get his chance on a United States Ship, war or no war, but no one would allow him to go. He was just too young.
   Mike had no choice but to go back to work for Mr. Talman in the afternoons, going to school of a day and taking care with his grandparents of an evening. He had been left to be raised by his grandparents after his father went to sea, a merchant marine. His mother had been killed when Mike was a boy, a victim of a deadly shark encounter while swimming with friends off of Pleasure Bay in the Boston harbor. Mikes life had not been an easy one, filled with tragedies and losses, but he was an emotionally strong, determined young lad who always got what he wanted, eventually. So all he had to do was to bide his time until he could have the correct number of birthdays until he could get his stint on a warship...and pray that he would still have a war to go to when he got there.

   The day finally came, August the 9th, 1943...Mikes 17th birthday. He rose from his bed this hot, sultry morning, covered in persperation and filled with excitement. It was a wednesday, but wasnt going to school...he had quit the previous year when, because of the war, he began working for Mr. Talman (who had been called back to active duty) full time. He was making more money, which was sorely needed, since his father had stopped sending money home and his grandfather had become ill and his grandmothers hands had become shakey and old and her stitching and sewing to bring in a few dollars was getting less and less work.
   Mike ran downstairs, down the hall, into the livingroom...having forgotten to even get dressed, he was so excited.
   "Boy!", his grandfather exclaimed, "Where are your blessed manners?!...Go get on your clothing!".
   Embarrassed, out of breath - but a huge grin on his face, Mike ran back and put on his bluejeans and a shirt, then ran back into the livingroom to his grandfather.
   "Todays my seventeenth birthday, granddad!", Mike smiled happily.
   "So?", the elderly Mr. Downy said, cautiously, eyeing him suspiciously, "...Dont you think I know that already?", he was filling his pipe with fresh tobacco.
   "I can go into the Navy now, if you and grandmother will sign the papers that Mr. Talman gave me!".
    Mr. Downy sat silently as he continued filling his pipe, concentrating on what he was doing perhaps a bit too much.
   "Granddad...?", Mike persisted.
   With a heavy sigh, Mr. Downy said, with a thick Irish brogue, "...You know the worryin' will probably kill yer grandmother if you go to war...", as he looked carefully up into his grandsons eyes.
    "I'm sorry, granddad...", Mike sighed, looking down, "...But I'm going wether or not its today or next year...you'll only be putting off the inevitable...".
   His grandfather shook his head in silent agreement, a slight smile on his face at the thought of his grandsons determination...so like his own when he was that age.
   "I'll talk with your grandmother, boy", was all Mr. Downy told him as he lit his pipe, then picked up the days paper to immerse himself into it.
   Impatient, as always, however, Mike persisted, "...Granddad, please...I want to go sign up today...I want to see this war before its over".
   "I said I would speak with your grandmother, boy...and I will...on my own time!", Mr. Downy strnly told him. Nothing more was said. Mike knew when he had pushed enough by the tone of his grandfathers voice. He turned and went to pout out on the back stoop.
   He laid out on the back lawn, chewing on a blade of grass as he let his mind wander to the ships he had seen pass the harbor. Huge, massive things that seemed to float effortlessly along, those huge artillary guns aiming toward the sky that could, when fired, completely destroy and entire fleet of enemy ships or take out Kamikazee planes by the droves.
   He daydreamed until he fell asleep in the cool grass in the shade of the elm trees.

   A few hours later, he awoke to the calls of his grandmothers voice.
   "Michael!...Where are ye, boy?", she called to him.
   "I'm comin'!", he hollared back at her, grumpy, feeling hot, sticky and sunburnt.
   He walked into the dark, cool kitchen. His eyes had to readjust from the bright sunlight, but the coolness felt good. His grandmother had the icebox door open. She looked up at him when he came walking in.
   "You look like ye need a good bathin', son...why dont ye go on upstairs and get yerself clean whilst I prepare yer birthday meal...we got a suprise for ye", she grinned, as she ushered him out the door into the hallway, "...and be quick about it, too!".

   When Mike came back downstairs, his girl, Jessica, his best friend "Peanut" (that was his nickname. His real name was Ricky Stovall, but the kid always seemed to have a bag of peanuts in his hand, no matter what he was doing or where he went, so the kids at school tagged him "Peanut". Ricky didnt seem to mind it) and both of his grandparents were setting at thier diningroom table, singing 'happy birthday' as he walked in. It really embarrassed him to have such a fuss made over him. He would rather have kept to himself than to have all of this attention paid him, but he often gave in to his grandparents whims and wishes because he knew that they loved him dearly and, after all...they were the only parents he ever really had. He loved them, too.
   Jessica ran around the table and up to Mike, throwing her arms around his shoulders and gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek, all smiles.
   "Happy birthday, Mike!!", she said, handing him a small, brightly colored wrapped box with a big, chunky golden bow on top.
   Peanut stood up and waved, "...Greetings, gaits!" (a 1940s slang term used only in the 'zoot-suit' and 'jitterbug' sets, of which Peanut was a full time member of each).
   In the middle of the table sat a good sized, round birthday cake that his grandmother had obviously made herself...it had white iceing with dark blue trimmings and the writing was all crooked because of her shaky hands. There was a little toy boat setting ontop of the cake, above the almost illegible writing, "Happy Birthday to our Michael".
   Mike said nothing about the writing. He knew it was made with love for him. Besides, he thought...once its eaten, no ones going to know the difference, anyway!
   He sat down at the table, between Jessica and Peanut and opened Jessies gift...it was a gold St. Christophers medal...patron saint of the hopeless. He chuckled.
   "I guess I can be hopeless sometimes, eh?", he said, giving Jessie a sly look and a grin.
   "Thats not what I meant, you!", she giggled, "...its just a medal that covers everything...any kind of situation you find yourself in, thats all".
   Peanut handed Mike a larger box, obviously wrapped by him...it was covered in red and white striped peanut bags, cut up and pieced together to cover the gift inside.
   "Jeez, Peanut!...it mustve cost you a fortune at the movies for all these bags of peanuts!!", Mike laughed.
   "Yeah!", Peanut exclaimed, "...I had to go see 'Swing Shift Maisie' eleven times to get enough peanut bags to cover that box!...But I wanted you to know who that gift came from!", he laughed.
   "Sure", Mike laughed back, "but it didnt hurt you much to see Ann Southern all those times, either!".
   The two laughed heartily. Peanuts infatuation with actress Ann Southern was notorious. He even had her autographed photo taped to the inside of his locker at school, not to mention the nearly hundreds of photos of her in his room back at his house.
   Mike playfully, dramatically...taking great swings with his arms as he pulled off each, individual piece of cellophane tape off, peeling each paper peanut bag off and laying them on the table top to spell out "Mike".
   "Cut it out and open the box, for jeepers sakes!", peanut laughed as he nudged Mike, anxious for him to see what he had got him...anxious to see if his friend liked what he had got for him.
   Inside was an olive drab cap, military issue. Inside, Peanut had marked with a laundry marker so that the writing would never fade out, "To my best friend Mike - Peanut".

Mike was touched, but would rather have cut his own throat than to show it, nudged Peanut back gently and simply said "Thanks". But by the look on his face, Peanut knew his friend really like the cap...Mike put the cap on right then and never took it off once, all the time Peanut was there.

   Mr. Downy stood and hushed everyone as Mrs. Downy handed Peanut the last cut piece of cake.
   "I want to wish my grandson a very happy birthday", he said, toasting his paper cup of fruit punch toward his grandson, "...Boy, we have cared for you and loved you like our very own son, you are our blood, nevertheless...we want you to be happy on this day and, being the grandparents of such a fine young lad such as yourself, we wanted to give you something you have really wanted to repay you for all the happiness and joy you have brought to us...happy birthday, son...". He handed Mike an envelope.
   Mike hesitantly took it from his grandfathers hand, gently. He opened it slowly and read it carefully. It was the recruiting papers Mr. Talman had given him...signed by both his grandparents.
   Tears welled up in Mikes eyes.
   "You mean youre going to let me go...?", Mike asked them, without looking up.
   "Yes, boy...you have our blessings", his grandfather nodded.
   Mike sat there, staring at those papers for a few minutes before suddenly jumping up and screaming gleefully, "YYYYYAAAAHHHOOOOOOOO!!!!!". He jumped up, ran over and hugged his grandmother, hugged his grandfather, jumped around, did a cartwheel, hugged and kissed Jessica and then hugged, with one arm, Peanut.
   Mike stayed as long as he could at this party, but he was fidgety and anxious during the entire time. Finally, around three that afternoon, he could wait no longer. He just had to get to the recruiting station!
   "I've got to get down to the recruiting station before five", Mike said, standing, wiping the fruit punch from his lip with a paper napkin, "...If anyone wants to go with me, lets set sail...daylights wasting!".
   "Cant you put it off till tomorrow, boy?", his grandfather asked him, hoping to put off loseing his only grandchild one more day.
   "It would drive me crazy, granddad...", Mike told him, pleading in his eyes.
   Mr. Downy then waved his hand in a submissive gesture, then Mike was out the door like a shot, with Jessie and Peanut in close persuit.

   Mike got his orders to sail for the following monday morning. Another party was thrown for him the saturday night before and it was an emotional situation. Mikes grandmother had felt ill all that day, so she had stayed in bed throughout the party. His grandfather stayed out on the front stoop all evening...he said it was so that the young folks could have some fun without the adults being around, but when Mike had went out to ask his grandfather to come in when his freinds wanted to toast to his safe return, Mr. Downy had tears in his eyes and a sniffling nose.
   "Granddad...? Whats wrong?", Mike asked the old man softly as he put his arm around his withered old shoulders.
   "Allergies", Mr. Downy sniffed stubbornly, retrieving his handkerchief from his back pocket, then wiped his eyes and blew his nose.
   Mike knew his granddad had been crying, but said nothing more for fear of embarrassing him.
   "Okay, granddad", Mike said, smiling gently, "...would you come in and toast me with my friends for my safe return?...It would mean alot...".
   "Alright, boy...be there in a minute", the old man said, pretending to look for his pipe...but Mike already knew that his pipe was in the ashtray on the table next to his granddads favorite chair, in the livingroom.
   Mike knew his going to war was hurting his dear grandparents. He knew it and he couldnt help it. He just had to get on that ship. It was something within him that drove him to it. It wasnt just his love of the sea or of ships, this time...it was as if destiny were calling him, demanding his presence. It was a fierce need to go that Mike Quint just couldnt refuse...couldnt fight...and didnt really want to even try.

   Five AM, monday morning, the alarm bells brought Mike Quint straight up out of bed and into the cool, still dark morning.
   He had already packed a small leather case with shaving equipment and three photographs...one of his grandparents, one of Jessica and one of Peanut and two of his other close pals, Tommy Richards and Bobby McCollum. He knew that he didnt have to take any clothes...the Navy would provide his uniform, so, having already had everything packed and ready to go, he went straight inot the bathroom for a shower. He had to be ready to go by 5:45...the bus from the recruiting station was leaving for Otis Air Force base at six. He and the other recruits would be flown to California, by jet, to the North Island Naval Air Station in Corona, near San Diego. From there, he would be taken by bus a few miles north to the Naval Training Center. He would have to go through three weeks of training before he could get onto his first ship, but he didnt mind that...at least he would get an idea of what he would be doing.
   Naval training came naturally to Mike, who was now getting used to simply being called "Quint". Everyone was referred to by his last name. There were so many guys, it made it easier to keep them from getting mixed up.
   Quints commanding officer, Lt. Norton Moran, had commented to his superior that Quint was "Catching on faster than anyone else".

   And the day finally came when Quint was put to sea. He was issued to a ship that had been christened the USS Indianapolis, a war ship with an exquisite reputation...she had already seen three years of heavy fighting in the Pacific and had been through a Kamikazee attack without much structural damage. As a matter of fact, she sailed all the way to San Francisco, on her own power, to be repaired.
   Quint thought this would be the safest place he could be and, on his first night at sea, he wrote to his grandparents to tell them all about it. He figured this news would help them feel a little safer about his time away from them. Quint wrote them as often as he could, sometimes as many as four times a week. He wanted to reassure them that they had done the right thing for him and of how happy they had made him allowing him to join the Navy. And he was happy, too. Extremely happy. He could have been happier if he had got to see some real action, but he was doing fine. He had made alot of new friends and was having the time of his life, even when he was cleaning out the artillary barrels or swabbing the deck...he always seemed to have a smile on his face. He played pranks and jokedaround, he won alot of money gambling in midnight poker games (which he always sent his poker winnings home to his grandparents...he felt gambling was a "sin", according to what his grandmother had always taught him, so he figured by sending it home to help them, it all equaled out, somehow). And when he could, he would just stand at the bow, leaning on the rail, watching the water. He felt a sense of power as he sailed along, the wind in his hair, the sound of the waves as they rushed along the steel hull below. He could get lost easily in thought when he did this, shutting out the entire rest of the world.

   On July the 22nd, 1945, the USS Indianapolis docked in San Francisco to take aboard some mysterious cargo. None of the crew knew what was in those gigantic crates and, if Captain McVey knew, he wasnt telling. Quint didnt really care. They were going to stay overnight in San Francisco and he had just got his pay. He was going to have some fun! So, he put on the cap that his pal Peanut had given him on his birthday, his cleanest denims and headed for shore.
   He had gotten so drunk the night before, that he almost missed his boarding call. If it hadnt been for his buddy, Herbie Robinson, who had been out with him the night before but hadnt been drinking, himself, he would have missed the boat.
   Once on board, the ship leaving the dock, Quint asked Robinson where they were headed now.
   "We're supposed to be going to Tinian Island in the south Pacific", Herbie told him, "Thats where we're supposed to be dropping off those huge crates we took on back in San Francisco".
   "What do you suppose is in those crates?", Quint asked, sipping a cup of hot coffee they had stopped quickly to get just before boarding, pulling his cap down lower over his eyes to keep that excruciatingly painful sunlight out of them.
   "I dont know", Robinson said, "But they must be pretty important if theyre keeping them this big a secret".

"No one knows what they are?", Quint asked, curiously.
   "Nope", Robinson sighed, "...If they do, no ones talking".
   On the 26th, the Indy docked in Tinian. The entire crew was ordered to stay aboard, since they would leaving immediately, once the cargo had been removed, to go to Guam for further orders.
   When they left Guam, the Indianapolis was ordered to meet up with the battleship the USS Idaho in the Leyte Gulf in the Phillipines. They were going to prepare for the invasion on Japan. Quint was quite excited...he was finally going to see some real action.
   The Indy left Guam that same day, the 26th, on a course of 262 degrees making 17 knots. Quint was standing at the railing on the bow, his heart racing with excitement. They were now on their way to meet up with the CINCpac (commander-in-chief, Pacific) for more orders. But it was the thought of actually going to kick some Jap ass that got Quints blood racing. The attack on Pearl Harbor had shocked and frightened the young Michael Quint...and it had angered him. Paybacks was on its way.
   They docked in Guam around 3pm, but the stay wasnt long. Quint and Herbie spied some real cuties waving at the young, handsome, American sailors and wanted to go ashore to have some fun, but, business first.
   The next three days were lazy days for Quint. He was either pulling watch duty, reading, playing poker or just setting on deck, daydreaming, staring out over the waves.
   On sunday night, july the 29th, Quint had planned on turning in early. He had watch from 4pm to 8pm, but a couple of the guys in first division were planning a big poker game at about ten. He wanted to shower up and change before going below. He first had to find a pal of his, ensign Paul Thatcher, who owed him some money so he could have something to gamble with.
   Fourteen minutes past midnight, Quint was winning big. He had entered the game with ten dollars and was now up over fifty.
   "The minute I step off this ship, boys, I'm going to find the prettiest, most friendliest girl, the biggest, coldest bottle of champagne and the nearest motel and blow this half a c-note as fast as I can!", he laughed heartily. But, he no sooner tucked his winnings into his shirt pocket when there was a deafening sound that rocked the ship violently, knocking the guys right out of their seats.
   "What the hell?!", Greg Chillborne shouted, as the lights flickered.
   "I think we've been hit!", Mugsy Landers screamed.
   "Bullshit!", Quint yelled, "We're in unoccupied waters, for christs sakes!!"
   "You know those sneaky fucking Japs", Mugsy screamed, wild-eyed with panic, "they have a damned bad habit of hitting ya when yer pants are down!". He ran past Quint, heading for topside.
   "Come on, Quint!", Herbie said, grabbing his shirt and pulling him along, "Lets get the hell out of here!".
   Everyone was yelling, "Abandon ship! Abandon ship!", so thats all Quint and Herbie could think to do. Especially when they noticed that they were being chased by a rush of water like Niagara Falls.
   The two made it top-port side, barely able to stand. The ship was upending, her entire bow just gone.
   "What the shit is happening?!", Herbie screamed, barely audible over the chaos, rushing water and drill warning sirens.
   "We'll figure it out later!", Quint yelled back as he shoved Herbie as hard as he could, overboard.
    When the two got about 60 yards out away from the ship, they couldnt believe their eyes. The ships stern was almost verticle, her propellars still and she was sinking fast. It sent a chill through Quints bones, not to mention through his very soul. He had never seen anything like this before in his life, nor could he even have dreamed something like this could ever happen. It was chilling. Men were screaming. They were burned, wounded, bleeding, dying. The rest were panicking, being lost in the midst of solid blackness, knowing they were somewhere in the middle of the Pacific ocean, no where near land, afraid of what their fate would be, now.
   But Quint wasnt too worried. He knew they were due to arrive in the Phillipines around 11am the next day, so they weren't going to be out there, long. Someone would surely call out a rescue squad when they didnt arrive. The Navy knew what they were doing.
   "Heya, Herb", Quint called out, "How ya doing?".
   "Oh, I'm okay, I think...", came Herbies voice out of the near darkness, "I hope I can stay afloat...I didnt get a chance to grab my lifejacket...".
   "Well, let me know when youre starting to get tired and I'll lend ya mine for awhile", Quint called back at him.
   "Thanks, Quint".
   "No problem".
   A few minutes later, Herbie called back at Quint.
   "Hey, Quint...".
   "Yeah?"
   "I think I'd like to borrow that jacket awhile now...I'm getting really sleepy".
   "Find your way over to me", Quint called, "Follow my voice...".
   "I dont think I can...my legs feel like theyre asleep".
   "Okay, then...keep talking...I'll find you".
   After Quint help Herbie with the the heavy kapoc and was sure Herbie was floating along alright, he just leaned back and sort of let his body float naturally. He guessed he had fallen asleep a few minutes, because he was awaken by something hitting him in the head. It was an empty wooden potato crate. He reached out in the dark for it, bringing it in to him, then resting himself on it. It wasnt long before he was asleep, once more.
   Morning came and everyone was taking headcount. Quint and Herbie decided to swim over to a larger group, since they were the only two in their area. But Herbie couldnt swim. He complained that his legs were 'dead' and that he couldnt move them. Quint decided to swim under and check out his legs. They were both gashed severely above the knee's...it must have happened when Quint pushed him over the railing...he must have ripped his legs open on the torn steel from the hole that had been blown open in the side of the ship.
   "Whats wrong with em?", Herbie asked Quint when he came up for air.
   "Looks kinda bad, Herb", Quint told him, honestly, "But I'll take care of it for ya...we'll be rescued in few hours...once they realize we didnt show up, they'll send a search crew out. Just hang in there". He took off his shirt and started to rip it into two pieces to make a half-assed turniquet. He suddenly remembered the fifty he'd put into his pocket the night before, but it was lost somewhere to the sea, so he simply proceeded to rip up the shirt.
   "Damn", he cursed to himself, "I was lookin' forward to spending that dough, too!".
   Oh, well. He'd gladly give the fifty just to hear the sound of a big, fat PBY flying overhead, right now.
   But the night came and there was no rescue. No PBY's, no cruisers, nothing. The night was upon them and it was cold. Colder than anything Quint could ever remember. He thought about the time when he had fallen asleep out on the back lawn during the summer one hot evening. His grandparents left him there...it had been so blasted hot and he had been so miserable, besides, he had slept out there before when he had friends over for backyard "camp-outs". But when he awoke in the wee morning hours, damp from dew, he was shivering, cold to the bone, it seemed.
   That was the coldest he had ever felt before this night.

   The morning of the second day came and Quint was worried about Herbie. He wasnt looking too good. He didnt think an infection could really set up in his legs, not being soaked in all this purifying salt water. But he would still bleed. But Quint laid there, hanging onto that soggy wooden potato crate, staring at his friend. He didnt look good at all. He wondered of he should let him sleep or wake him to check if he was still conscious or not. Oh, well. He decided to let him sleep. After all...if he was asleep, he wouldnt be thinking about how hungry or thirsty he would be. In fact, Quint let himself drift back off into a semi sleep for that same reason. His stomach was growling and his mouth was so dry it felt like he had been sucking on cotton balls.
   A couple hours later, the heat got so intense that he couldnt sleep. The weather was hot enough in itself, but the sun beating off of the water was excrutiating. Quint suddenly felt like one of the flies or spiders he used to fry with a magnifying glass when he was just a little mischevious squirt. He would direct a magnified beam of sunlight onto the unfortunate insect of his choice and cook them on the spot.
   "Paybacks are a bitch", he thought to himself, thinking how he must be getting in return now for all that he'd done to Gods little creatures in the past.
   The funny things one thinks of when death is close...
   But Quint was smart. A survivor. He swam over to Herbie so he could protect him, as well, then sank a bit to where only his head was sticking out of the water and put the crate over their heads. The ends and sides were open for the air, but the bottom was solid. It would keep the sun from beating down on them.
   It was far more comfortable than before, but it was a little more tiring, since he had to spend a little more energy keeping himself under the water and not floating up to the surface like his body wanted to. But it was worth it, to Quint. He passed the time talking to Herbie, who wasnt hearing him. After awhile, he sort of drifted into a light sleep. His body floated to the surface, but he had hooked his fingers into the crate before he rested so that it wouldnt drift away or someone would take it. Guys were starting to get a bit daft being out here like this, the extreme heat, the extreme cold, no opportunity for any real sleep, no water to drink, no food...and, worse, no rescuers. The more that time passed, the less hope they had of ever seeing their families, friends...of living. And, when a man didnt have hope, he didnt have will. And without will, there was no life.
   Suddenly, Quint was awaken by a blood curdling scream. It woke him so suddenly and startled him so much that, at first, he didnt even know where he was.
   "What the hell...?!".
   He tossed that crate over and shielded his eyes from the blinding sun to look around and try to see where the scream came from, trying to see what was going on.
   Another piercing scream rang out, then another...then another.
   Quint swam over to a group of about three and asked what was going on.
   "I dont know", one of the guys said.
   "Probably another guy going berzerk after drinking the salt water", a second shrugged away.
   Alot of splashing and screaming.
   Then someone screamed "SHARK!!!".
   A sailor began swimming back toward Quint and the other three guys in a panic. When he reached the group, breathing heavily, he stopped, shaking off water, to inform the group that a huge school of sharks was after the bleeding wounded, to be still if they werent bleeding and to pray if you were, before swimming over toward another group to warn them.
   "I gotta get back over to my friend..he's been wounded", Quint told the guys before swimming back toward Herbie.
   But Herbie was still asleep. Or, at least, thats what Quint thought...at first.
   "Herb...C'mon...ya gotta wake up, now...", Quint said, shaking Herbie.
   Herbie didnt move. And he looked really bad...his color was awful...his skin was greyish and his lips were blue. Quint noticed this, but, perhaps, in his mind, he didnt want to believe what the fear that was creeping into him was actually telling him. He tried dismissing it as hard as he could, but the realization was steadily sinking in....
   "C'mon, Herb...", Mike began to plead, "Dont do this to me...!". He floated there, staring at Herbie.
   He knew not to drink the salt water, but he just had to put something moist into his mouth...it was painfully dry right now.
   "Herbie...we gotta get out of here and get over to a bigger group...", Quint shook him once more, a little too hard. When he did, Herbie sort of leaned over, like a bouy being pushed to one side. His head went under and began to sink...there was nothing left of herbie below the waist to set him right again.
   He'd been cleved cleanly in half from the waist down.
   A shark had got to him already.
   Quint stared for the longest time, his eyes as big as saucers, his heart racing. All he could think about was Peanut and how close he had been to him. As close as he had become to Herbie. Best buddies.
   He turned away and tried to vomit. He was so sick, but he was so empty and so dehydrated that there was nothing that could come out. He dry heaved about fifteen minutes, tears rolling down his cheeks, his face beet red from gagging.
   It took him awhile to regain enough composure to gently remove the kapoc from what was left of his best buddy. He put on the lifejacket, then performed his own small, dignified funeral for his friend...he was going to give his friend the dignity and respect he deserved as best he could under the circumstances.
   He gently removed Herbies ID tags, then placed them around his own neck. He saida little Irish prayer that his grandmother had told him when he was little, then gently cradled Herbie and swam with his remains down below the surface, where the salt was heavier and there was less bouyancy, then pushed him down. He watched through water blurred eyes as his friend slowly sank down into the old seamans home, then he resurfaced for air. He wasnt concerned with any damned shark. In fact, he was so angry, so hurt, that if one or more came near, he relished the thought of trying to kill them with his bare hands and, if he lost the fight, so be it, be damned! Death would release him from this nightmare.
   When he joined the nearest group, one of the guys noticed Quint had been crying...his red, puffy eyes told the tale.
   "You alright, swabby?", one of the guys asked, sympathetically.
   "The salt in the water is irritating my eyes", Quint told him, passing it off.
   "Yeah", the guy tried a grin, "It gets to me too, at times". He knew Quint was lying, but they had all done a little of it, so it was none of his business to make an issue of it.

The days wore on and the intense heat was becoming unbearable. Some guys had been drinking the salt water out of intense thirst and going insane from it. They would babble and yell about nonsense things. That, alone, was enough to put Quint on the verge of his own insanity.
   But the men screaming from the shark attacks were the worst. Young Michael Quint had never, ever, in his life heard anything like that. It was a sound that one could not easily explain. It was deafening only in a spiritual sense. It ripped into ones heart and soul. It was so bad, that Quint found himself submerging himself whenever someone started wailing with pain so that he couldnt hear it. It didnt take too long for him to learn how to hold his breath for longer than two minutes.
   At nights, Quint found himself thinking of home, his warm bed. If he prayed for anything, it was just to be at home, where it was warm and comfortable. He prayed to God that if He would just help him get back home, he would never leave it, again. He thought of Jessica and Peanut. He thought about how he was going to tell Herbie's girl, Lynn, about how he died. Oh, he knew that, once he turned in Herbies ID tags, that the government would notify his parentsand they, in turn, would tell his girl, but they had each promised the other that, if anything happened to either one of them, that they would personally take the news back to thier families. This was a promise Quint intended to keep, so he thought of how he would do it, often...it helped pass the time and keep his mind off of the current situation.

   Day after long, hot, miserable day and long, wet, cold, miserbale nights, planes went overhead and hopes were dashed, over and over. Some of the guys had little personal mirrors tucked into thier kapocs for reflection so they could be spotted easier, but none of the planes ever came back. At this point, Quint had began to give up hope and was seriously considering taking a mouthful of salt water. At least he wouoldnt die with a dry throat and mouth. He was so dehydrated that he couldnt even perspire. And he would, at least, be in charge of his own fate...not the Navy, who, it seemed, had abandoned him and not those fucking murdering, black-souled sharks!
   But, just as he was taking a deep breath, psyching himself up to go under, he heard the low hum of a plane. The hope that it would be plane that would rescue him was fleeting and dissipated almost immediately, so he dismissed it and took one more deep breath, ready to go under.
   Then he heard someone yell, "Its one of ours!".
   Quint heard it just as his ears went under water.
   He popped back up like a jack-in-the-box. He looked up. A little PV1 Ventura was making an aerial u-turn, coming back toward them. The screams and waving and excitement sent Quints heart racing, almost causing him to pass out. He wondered of he would have the physical strength to be rescued. No water or food for 5 days, exposed to the severe elements had taken its toll on his young body. His throat was so dry, he could barely speak. He was dizzy and nauseated and extremely weak. He didnt have any feeling in his fingers or toes. His face was so sunburnt, it was raw and painful.
   But the sights and sounds of that little plane was as if God, Himself, was coming down for him. In fact, he wasnt too sure that it wasnt one of Heavens angels sent to get him, disguised as a PV1!
   That PV1 circled around awhile then left. The men were still cheering, anyway, because they knew they had been finally been seen. They no longer had to wonder if the Navy would wonder about them being missing and wonder of they should send out a rescue squad or not. They had been seen, finally. It was only a matter of time, now, before they could leave this hell behind.
   Less than an hour later, a big PBY came skimming down on the water, setting out rubber rafts. There were a couple of hundred guys rushing to it and suddenly there were crowds of men fighting to be rescued. Quint just sort of floated back, waiting his turn.
   He was really too afraid to move. See, the general consensus among the guys, where the sharks were concerned, was that if one made a lot of noise and splashing, it would scare the sharks away. It didnt make sense to Quint. It seemed to him that, thrashing around in the water would appear to those sharks as other fish in distress and that it would attract the sharks. But no one would listen to him. Thats probably what saved his life. Though those damned sharks were grabbing guys who were too weak to thrash around and make noise, Quint still assumed those guys must have been injured and their blood attracted the sharks. In fact, a couple of sharks had cruised by him very slowly and, had he made a move, Quint was certain they would have attacked him. He had a large bruise where one curious, hungry shark slid along his side, trying to make out wether he was potential food.
   But with all that fighting in the water, all that noise and all that thrashing, Quint knew it would attract those monsters of the deep, so he made sure to stay out of the way. If those sharks got into one of their psychotic feeding frenzies, anything and everything in the way would get chomped and he was just too close to safety to take any chances, now.
   Quint waited patiently, his heart racing with anticipation, his eyes wide like a child seeing Santa Claus for the first time, only fear hid beneath each quick breath.
   He watched as guys were pulled into the rafts or into the plane, itself. There were guys being strapped to the wings of the plane, there was so many. Quint suddenly realized that there just might no be enough room left for him. He decided to swim slowly toward one of the rescue rafts.
   "Hold on", one fo the rescuers held his hand up to Quint, "If youre not injured, youre gonna have to wait till we can get more help out here...just hang on for a little while longer".
   Quint nodded.
   It was finally going to be over. At last.
   He turned his face away from the others, toward the horizon and silently cried with relief.

   After he was aboard the USS Doyle, after he had been quickly looked over by the ships doctor, showered, dressed in dungarees and laid down onto a cot, he said a silent prayer to God for this rescue, but wondered if it wasnt a dream. He wondered of he had actually died and this was Heaven. He drifted off to sleep wondering just that.
   A few days later, Quint was at a Naval hospital on Guam. Thats where all the guys were taken. Some of the guys were in really bad shape. One guy, Chester Orenthal, had been attacked by a shark and had survived, but lost both of his feet. When he wasnt screaming in pain, he was wailing about not being able to dance anymore. Seems dancing was a very important part of his life. One guy, Willie Haskins, finally got tired of Chesters going on and on. Quint only felt sorry for Chester, but he really wouldnt shut up. It was almost constant. The guy would even wail out in his sleep. When Willie felt he just couldnt take anymore, he got up and walked over to Chester and tied his hands behind his back as he sat in the wheelchair, then shoved a towel into his mouth. They had all been through so much and everyone was on their last good nerves, were in pain and really suffering, so alot of them understoof why Willie did that. But it was still wrong. Quint, with his weak legs, rubbery skin (from being submerged for so long in salt water while being dehydrated...salt water did nasty things to the human body, Quint found out the hard way) and second-degree burns on his face and neck walked over to Willie and called him an impatient, intolerant asshole. Willie was, like Quint, one of the few who were the better of the lot, physically. He stood up off of his cot and walked toward Quint, "And who the hell are you? Mother Cabrini?!".
   "I'm just saying what you did to Chester was bullshit and I think you need to apologize", Quint said. Oh, Quint was a little nervous confronting Willie Haskins. He was the boggest guy on the whole ship. He looked like he could rip a Los Angeles phone book in half with his teeth. A big gorilla-type guy. But Quint always was one for standing up for his convictions. And he never backed down.
   Eddie Costa and Teddy Banes were over untying Chester. They stopped to watch Quint and Willie. In fact, everyone in the ward did. Even Chester sat and stared wide-eyed.
   "You wanna try and make me apologize, squirt?", Willie grinned, crossing his arms.
   "Youre an asshole, Haskins. Good men died on that ship and you lived. Life is fucking cruel", Quint smirked then turned to walk away.
   "Fuck you!", Willie barked at Quint, before calling Quint a "little chicken-hearted weasel".
   Quint stopped in his tracks. He could take crap and he could give it...but when his male pride was on the line, it was the only thing that the Japs, the Navy or anyone else could take away from him...much less some gorilla looking fat ass with a mouth big enough to turn a u-boat in!
   Quint moved so fast, that, later, when the other guys had to recount what had happened to the staff chief, they couldnt really recall any details about the incident.
   Quint had turned quickly and just swung his fist as fast and as hard as he could, nailing Willie right in the mouth. Willie reeled backwards and fell between the bed and the table next to it, right on his backside. Then Quint walked over and placed a swift kick right into the same spot. Willies head flew back and hit the wall, knocking the big guy out cold. Quints shirt was covered with Willies blood - and teeth.
   "Youre gonna get it good when he comes out of it, Quint!", Eddie said, now standing at Quints side, the both of them looking down at Willie. Blood was gushing from his mouth.
   "You'd better take a walk, buddy", Eddie told him, Teddy now standing with the two and agreeing, "Yeah...take a walk, Quint...we'll take care of this".
   "Where do you suggest I go?", Quint asked.
   "There's some lady nurses down by the commisary...", Teddy winked.
   "Quints grin grew from ear to ear.
   The guys smoothed the whole thing over and by the time Quint returned to the ward, Willie - whos entire jaw was bandaged up and guze filled his mouth. He didnt even look at Quint when he walked in. In fact, all the time the two shared the same ward, Willie avoided Quint at all costs! Even when the guys who were released to the place they called the Submarine R&R camp, a place sort of like world war two's version of club med, they were seperated...at Willies request.
   When Quint was discharged on september the 6th, his scars almost thoroughly healed...(his skin had simply began peeling from his bones. The salt water had turned his skin basically into a thin rubbery substance not unlike silly putty)...he wasnt really sure where he wanted to go. He didnt know if he wanted to go back and face his grandfather, who had wished he hadnt gone to war in the first place, go to see Herbies girl, Lynn, in Cleveland or what to do. he thought about just roaming the country...he wanted to see what it was he went to war for in the first place.
   But as he stood at the plane, waiting to fly him back to San Francisco, he thought of Jessica and Peanut and suddenly wanted to go back to Amity. He would go back, marry his high school sweetheart, hang out with his best buddy in the world and maybe go see Mt. Talman for his old job at the soda fountain and start saving again for his boat. He still dreamed often of having his own fishing boat. Maybe he would sail around the world with it, someday.

Things were quite different in Amity when Mike Quint returned, however. The worry he had caused his grandparents by going to war had taken a harsh physical toll on the both of them. His grandmother had taken to her bed almsot immediately upon his departure. Quint never realized how much he had meant to her. After all, he was the only son of her only daughter, so he was basically everything to her, her entire reason for living. But he didnt realize that until long after her death. She died one month after he came home. her heart simply failed. At the funeral, his grandfather said she had been sick, but couldnt 'let go' until she was sure he would be home and alright.
   Peanut wasnt around. He had joined the Marines shortly after his own 17th birthdayand was still in Hawii. Jessica, however, was still waiting for him. He was quite thankful for her support through his grandmothers death and burial and for the weekend when he borrowed his grandfathers car and drove to Ohio to see Lynn and to give her Herbies ID tags. That was a very traumatic moment in time for Mike Quint. He was glad when it was over.
   This was around the time when Mike Quint started drinking heavily. He had asked Jessica to be his wife, but after he had saved some money. But he couldnt save any money because he was spending it all on alcohol. He had a taste for exotic liquor...peppermint schnapps, sloe gin, flavored brandies, but he settled on apricot brandy and was drinking it like most people drank soda pop. And when he drank, he got nasty. He was always apologizing to Jessie, but that didnt take away the guilt he felt after yelling at her or saying vicious things that he never meant. He loved her. He would have rather died than to have hurt her. But he just always felt so bad, deep down inside of himself...he guessed it just had to come up, every now and then or lay there and fester on his soul. There was asong out called "You only hurt the ones you love". It made sense to him.

   One year later found Quint working at the shipyards in Boston harbor, scraping and repainting steel ship hulls, making two dollars an hour. That was pretty good money back then. And, after his grandfather passed away, he sold the cottage and had a nice little "nest egg" to fall back on after he bought that boat, a 38-foot shrimper called the "warlock". However, he didnt like that name. So one night, as he sat on the dock, just staring at her, marvelling at his dream come true, he began to mentally rearrange those wooden letters that spelled out "warlock" and came up with a better name for his vessel..."Orca". So, he proceeded to peel off those wooden letters on her stern, then used the O, the R, the C and the A letters and nailed them back on to spell "Orca", the name of the only thing in the sea that could not be taken down or destroyed by a shark.
   Jessica was getting tired of his verbal abuse and his constant disappearing acts, as well as his womanizing. He had a bad habit of flirting heavily, even right in front of her and it embarrassed and humiliated her and she was tired of putting up with it. She'd tried telling him how she felt, but he would only accuse her of nagging and tell her to go find something constructive to do. She was also upset with him for selling the cottage. Between his job at the shipyard and his Navy retirement pay, they could have lived a noce cozy little life together in that little cottage, but she didnt say anything because she had taken into consideration that he might find it too emotionally difficult to remain there now that his grandparents were gone. The point was, he had all these opportunities to marry her like he had promised, but he was always passing them over. It was more important to her to get married, now, since he had talked her into making love to him, losing her virtue to his promise of eventual marriage. Maintaining a girls virtue was a very important matter in those days. If a girl was unmarried and not a virgin, her entire life could be ruined. She would be marked by a bad reputation and considered poor marraige material. but she believed him, with all of her heart, when he promised to marry her.
   Only it wasnt turning out that way.
   One night, Peanut had brought him home after he had went out searching for him. Quint had been gone for three days and Jessie was worried about him. He had rented a small room near the shipyard and she was still living with her parents. He had promised to take her to the movies the previous friday night, but he never showed up. The next day, she took a bus all the way up to Boston harbor to look for him, but he was nowhere to be found. She called and talked to Ricky ("Peanut" now felt he was too old to be called that, anymore) and asked him if he might know where Mike was, but he couldnt find Quint, either.
   Monday came and work called Jessica, who Quint had put down as his next of kin on his employee card. She had told them what she knew and they asked her of she was going to call the police, but she said she and their friend Ricky would look one more day, maybe he would show up before going to the police. After all, she knew he was probably out drinking somewhere. His boat was gone, afterall....thats most likely where he was, so she covered for him at work for monday, at least.
   Late monday night, well after midnight, Ricky tossed some small pebbles up at Jessicas window to get her outside to talk without her parents finding out. He had something to tell her that was going to upset her and he didnt want her parents angry with him over it.
    "Whats going on?", She asked Ricky just above a whisper as she pulled the front door closed quietly behind her, "Did you find Mike?".
   "I found him, alright, Jessie", He said, a little agitated, upset, "and its going to upset you to tell you what I know, but youre a sweet kid and you've put up with alot of garbage from that guy...he's my best friend and I shouldnt go against him like this, but...its strange...he's hurting inside for hurting you, but he cant stop it...so, as a friend, I figure its up to me to put a stop to it, myself...for the both of you".
   "What are you talking about?!", she urged him on.
   Ricky stood there, silently. He wasnt sure how he should do this.
   "Go get dressed...I wanna take you somewhere", he sighed.
   "Where?", she wanted to know.
   "Just do it, Jess...", he ordered, "This isnt easy for me, okay? but its got to be done".
   So, she hurriedly dressed and left with Ricky in his '41 Chevy coupe convertible in the middle of a cool summer night.
   They arrived at the cheap, rundown apartment building where Quint lived. Ricky parked and they just sat there.
   "Why are we here?", she asked, "You figure I need to talk to Mike to get this all out or something??".
   "Something like that...", he sighed.
   He got out of the car and came around to her side and opened the door for her. She got out and followed him inside.
   "Now dont freak out", Ricky said to her as he knocked on Quints door.
   "Why would I...", she started to ask, then the door to the apartment came open.
   Quint was standing there in his boxer shorts, obviously drunk and "stimulated"....the smile on his face immediately changing into an angry grimace.
   "Why the hell did you bring HER here for?!", he shouted, "...I thought you were my friend!!".
   Just then, a leggy redhead with a Veronica Lake hair style, wearing Quints denim shirt came up behind him and wrapped her long arms around him, laying her head on his back, "Come back to bed, sweetie...I'm lonesome", she cooed.
   Quint looked back at the redhead with an embarrassed expression, then looked at Jessica with a guilty one. Quint wasnt one for leaving things to be guessed at, he hissed at Ricky, "You damned bloody traitor!", then shoved him aside and told Jessie that they were through, he didnt want to be married to her because she was a nag and he just didnt want the responsibility...but it tore his heart out to see her lip quiver that way, to see that tear inher eye, to see the shocked look on her sweet, trusting face. It had to end, somehow, sometime...he knew that. He had too much bitterness in him. He'd seen too much, been through too much. It might not have been so bad if they hadnt have put his captain on trial for the shipwreck...it wasnt their fault they were torpedoed, but the Navy blamed them, anyway and put his captin on trial...even bringing over the Jap sub commander that blew them up to testify against him! It made everything worse. There could be no healing process for him or the others, now...not when they were betrayed by the very government that they went to fight and die for! It just ate at Quint and he knew he would never be the same. He knew this was something that he would never be able to get over. Every morning he would wake up and it would be the first thing on his mind. Then the nager, the rage, the frusttration would set in and he would take it out on everyone who came in contact with him. And then he would drink. Though the drinking made him feel better, it made it worse on everyone around him.
   And he didnt want to put her through that. She was a beautiful girl, intelligent and caring...and he knew he didnt deserve her and if he stayed with her, he was terrified that all of what he felt would rub off onto her and it would make her bitter, too. He felt that he would be protecting her if he got away from her, but she always told him that she would be with him, would be there for him. He couldnt figure out how to get away from her without hurting her. Then this opportunity presented itself, so...he took advantage of it.
   "Well, now you see why I havent been around", Quint told her, coldly, trying his best to hide his pain and grief over hurting the girl he truly loved with a mask of anger, "Lydia here, and me...were goin' up the coast in the mornin' to tie the knot. She dont nag me like you do!...Now go home, little girl and find yourself some college boy to take care of ya!...I'm through!". Then he went back inside and slammed the door behind him.
   Jessica just stood there, in total shock, her tears streaming down her cheeks. Ricky put his arm around her and walked her back to his car.
   Meanwhile, Quint stood just inside, his back against the door, feeling as if his legs would give out from beneath him.
   "Damn!...Where'd you get all those wierd scars...?!", Lydia asked him, actually seeing him for the forst time without clothes on. He had picked up in a bar somewhere last night. It was dark, they came back to the dark apartment, got undressed in the dark and so on. Hell. He wasnt even sure her name was Lydia.
   "Just get dressed and get the hell out of here", he moaned, his heart breaking, the look of pain bltantly evident on his face.
   "But I thought we were getting married??...You told that...anyway, my name is Linda, not Lydia...".
   "Lydia, Linda, whatever the hell your name is", he shot back, "Youve got about three minutes to get dressed and get out or I'll toss you out on yer ass the way you are!".
   "Fine!", she whimpered defensively, turning to go into bedroom, complaining as she went, "I guess I shoulda known I wasnt going to find any Cary Grant sloshing around on a barstool!". She slammed the door behind her, just in time...Quint threw a table at her and it smashed on the door, in pieces.

   Two days later, Quint sobered up enough to do what he decided on doing. He went and quit his job at the shipyard, packed up his belongings, loaded them onto the Orca and set sail. He didnt know where he was going....he just wanted to go.
   Weeks later, he found himself looking for port to avoid a very nasty looking oncoming storm. The closest post would be Wilhelmshaven, Germany. He sailed at 40 knots, as fast as the Orcas marine engine could turn, toward Wilhelmshaven, but he didnt quite make it. But he did manage to dock before the eye of the storm came around, when the real damage could be done.
   This was when he met the girl who would become his first wife, Olivia Harding, a lovely girl with honey-blonde hair and blue-green eyes, all of 19 years old.
   She was well educated, her ability to speak English as good as when she spoke her native German. She took him in from out of the storm and cared for him. That stormy night as they sat in her kitchen, by candlelight, he felt a spark, a glow of warmth begin to grow within him as he watched her eyes sparkle, the light from the flame dance in her eyes. He felt something he had never felt before. He didnt recognize it, at first. But, by the time dawn broke through her window and found them slow dancing as he sang "Blue Moon", he suddenly realized that what he was feeling was love. Two days later, they were married.
   He wanted to take her back to Amity to show her off. He was thoroughly infatuated with her, but there was no way she felt she could leave her elderly grandmother aloneand she wasnt healthy enough to make such a long trip, so Quint agreed to stay in Germany with his beautiful Olivia.
   He had to maintain a post office box back in the States in order to keep his Navy pension, but he couldnt cash the checks. So, he started spending time around the docks, learning to how to make a living by fishing. The German fishermen were quite friendly and eager to help out the young American man. It was odd, he thought. These people were not the "nazi monsters" that seemed to be the general consensus back home during the war. nothing like that, at all. In fact, these people were even more friendly than the fishermen back home. They were kind and patient and it never seemed to bother them in the least to take time from their days, from earning their living, to show Quint how to tie a knot in a fishing line so he couldnt possibly lose a hook, or to wind a reel so that, when totally unwound, he wouldnt lose the line. Small but important things like that. The language barrier was a bit of a hinderance, but it didnt stop the men from having a fantastic rappore with each other.
   And Quint was there, almost everyday, learning and fishing, fishing and learning. At first, he was only helping them to sort of payback for their helping him, then he was doing it for fun.
   Until he realized that he could no longer have fun with the German fishermen because it was time to start making his own living...he found out Olivia was pregnant. It was now time to start making a living for them, himself. Olivia had been working in the beauty shop down the road and there was no way he would allow her to work while carrying his child.
   So he went happily to work, fishing, everyday, coming home to this jovial, loving young woman who seemed to make it her sole purpose in life to simply make him happy.
   Life was blissful, for Mike Quint. It seemed to him that all of that crap he had been through was merely a price to pay for the true happiness that would come later in his life. Now. With Olivia and their child. And it all just didnt seem to matter much, anymore. Nothing mattered but the her and now of his life. He often wondered about Jessica. he wonderd if he had given her this same chance, could she have made him as happy as he had been with Olivia. He was sure that she couldnt have. He had known Jessie for years and she had never made him feel so good, so whole and complete as Olivia could. So he was convinced that Olivia was the girl he was meant to be with, all along and settled to that realization.
   One rainy, mid-november morning, about two hours before the sun was due to arise, Quint was awaken by Olivia, moaning in he sleep. He reached over to wake her, only to find she was covered in persperation and burning with fever.
   "Livvie!", he called to her, hoping she would respond.
   She moaned.
   "Livvie! Wake up!", his voice was urgent.
   "Michael...", she moaned hoarsely, "Somethings wrong...".
   "I'll get you to the hospital!...Hold on!", he pleaded, in a panicked tone.
   He got dressed hurriedly, then ran to scoop her up out of the bed, blankets and all.
   "Sweet Jesus H. Christ!!", he gasped as he picked her up, a painful grimace on his face when he noticed all of the blood that was on the bed, in the spot where she was lying.
   Yet, she never made a sound.
   He carried her quickly but carefully to the old truck he had bought and gently laid in her in the front seat. He got in on the drivers side, started the engine and took off like a bat out of hell toward the hospital.
   He didnt even shut off the engine when he pulled up in front of the hospital entrance, barely taking the time to set the brake.
   He ran inside, yelling, "I need a doctor for my wife!".
   The language barrier was causing too much of a delay, so he just grabbed the arm of a man who looked like a physician and forcibly drug him out to the truck. Once the doctor saw Olivia, he made a mad rush for an attendant. They got her out of the truck, onto a guerney and into the emergency room as fast as physically possibe.
   Quint waited impatiently in the waiting room for some word for over an hour. Finally, the doctor who had taken her from the truck came out to him.
   Only Quint didnt speak German.
   The doctor, frustrated but patient, went to the front desk and said something to the nurse. She left and he waited, occasionally glancing back at Quint and nodding with a sad smile. Quint didnt like the feeling he was getting from all of this...
   Finally, the desk nurse came back with someone who appeared to be a patient. The doctor got everyone seating before proceeding.
   He said something in German to the patient. A look of sorrow and despair came over the patients face. The docotr seemed to urge the patient on into telling Quint what was happening...although he actually, somehow, already knew.
   "Your wife, alive, she is not", the patient said softly to Quint.
   Quint broke down.
   "My baby...", he got out of his mouth between sobs, "What about my baby?!".
   The patient looked at the doctor. The doctor said something in a whisper, as if Quint could understand. The patient, a young man of about 25, looked as if he would cry.
   "I am sorry", the patient said, "Your baby also is not alive".
   Quint sat there and bawled like a baby. He didnt care how he looked to anybody. He didnt care about his male pride, his machismo. He just didnt give a damned.
   He buried Olivia and their son, whom he had christened Michael Downey Quint, for his grandfather, together next to Olivias grandmother in a little hillside cemetery south of Wilhelmshaven. He sold the cottage to pay for the expenses, then decided, after almost three years, it was time to return to Amity.

   It felt good, actually, sailing into port in Amity. All sorts of emotions ran through his mind about going back "home". Was it going to be different? If so, then how? What was he going to do if he ran into Peanut or Jessica? He still felt betrayed by Peanut and it didnt matter that what he did was actually for the best for all concerned, he still felt betrayed. And after he had hurt Jessie so, how could he ever face her again?
   His life had changed. Olivia had done this for him. His love for her had done it. He had learned how to love and to respect and to cherish those special to him. The incident with the Indianapolis had also helped to teach him to appreciate those he cared about, but it was in too traumatic a way that its taken him awhile to see it. Maybe he would find Peanut and Jessica and apologize and get over feeling betrayed. After all, he had never felt more alone in his life than he did at this very moment.
   He spent his first night back in Amity sleeping aboard the Orca. He had to think about he was going to do...he knew he was going to have to find employment somewhere, but, where should he start? He knew he was going to have money built up in all of those checks in thet P.O. box, though some of the checks might be too old to cash. But there should be a nice little sum waiting for him, there. Then he would have to go to the bank to cash them, deposit them into an account. He would also have to change the thousand Deutschmarks from what was left of the sale of the cottage into U.S. dollars.
   He thought about alot of things before he finally drifted off to sleep under the clear, starry Amity sky.

   Quint made his choice on a career. There seemed to be no other real choice to make.
   He was going to continue fishing.
   He had quite a sum of money gathered up when he went to get a permit to build a piershack near the dock. Enough to have the piershack built with enough left over to live on for a good while, wether he worked or not.
   Several years later, Quint was about 23 miles SSE off of the south Amity shore, Quint had his fishing net over the Orcas side as he checked the seals on his storage containers, making sure the ice inside was not melting, when suddenly the boat rocked violently starboard. Something very big was trapped in his netting. He couldnt pull it up to see what it was, because whatever he had snagged was far too heavy to lift.
He had to do something before he either lost the net completely or the boat would go under, so he leaned over end tried to pull the net in, section by section.
   When he got some of the net up, a tail fin flipped up out of the water. If it hadn't been trapped in the net, it would've taken Quints head off.
   "You sonofabitch!!", Quint yelled, "You bloody bastard sharks have taken everything away from me, now I'm going to make you all PAY for it!!". His mission was to suddenly kill not only this shark, but every damned blasted shark in the ocean.
   He fought with the shark in his net violently, pulling on the net with all of his strength with his left hand as he swung the machete with his right, trying to hack that thing to pieces. He was so angry, so enraged, that he hadnt realized that he had chopped that shark into small chunks, the net, too and a few unfortunate fish in the process. He'd even made a few deep gashes into the side of the boat in his frenzy.
   Angry and tired, he finally ceased, setting back to catch his breath and calm down. When he pulled up what was left of the net, what was left of the shark was still in it. Only the head and gills, just about.
   As he sat there, still resting, he pulled the head loose, his determination to conquer the beast predominant, and hacked away every tiny trace of flesh from the jawbone, then nailed it to the front of the Orca's bridge.
   "Now you eat for ME, you sonofabitch!", Quint laughed.

   So started his lifelong vendetta.

However, a month or so later, he over heard a couple of fishermen at the market near Boston talking about how expensive shark meat was, that a fisherman could live a whole year off of only a few sharks.
   Quint put this together with his hatred for sharks and suddenly knew what he was going to be doing for the rest of his life.
   And, so he did.

   A year or so later, Quint was setting aboard the deck of the Orca, fishing, but not really paying attention to it, for he was thinking about how lonely he had become. Oh, sure. He insisted to others as well as himself that he needed no one. And, most of the time, that was true. But there were times when he felt so lonely and so afraid of the world that it drove him right to the brink of madness and only alcohol could lessen the pain and the fear. He was drinking heavily, again.
   He had made up with Peanut, or, Ricky, but things just werent the same. Jessica moved inland and Peanut had tole him that she was seeing a man who was very good to her and there was a hint of marriega talk between them, so Quint decided it would not be in her best interest if he went around her, so he just left her be.
   In late july of 1951, the weather in Amity was almost unbearable. There was a major heatwave that year and the tourists were coming out by the droves, not to mention, it was miserable to stay out on the water, fishing. It was almost like when he was stranded in the middle of the Pacific in '45, it was so hot and unbearable.
   So he decided to sail further up the coast to find cooler temperatures.
   He sailed north up the eastern coast, toward Nova Scotia. He docked in a small cove on Brier Island and went into a little bar called The Seven Seas, where he spied one of Gods loveliest creatures, a girl named Ilsa Bourne.
   Come to find out, Ilsa's father was an old fishing acquaintance he had known from around the fishmarkets, so he used this as an excuse to get close to her. He felt that same warm feeling he had felt with Olivia. It was a different feeling than what he felt when he just saw a pretty girl walk by. This was a warm, deep feeling that he'd only felt once before. So different, so warm, so familiar, so secure...and so good.
   He courted Ilsa for quite some time before he asked her to marry him. He wanted to be sure. his heart just couldnt take any more pain.
   But he had been married, she was so young - he was 24 to her 18, but had been through so much already in his short life so far that he could have been considered age 50. He tried to be a good husband to her, but it just didnt work out that way. He found himself too comfortable in the fact that he finally had someone to go home to, that he rarely went home. Of coure, that didnt make sense to anyone but Michael Jacob Quint. You see, having someone to go home to, someone to be there for him when he needed someone, gave him an overwhelming sense of security. He felt secure, safe, so he felt better staying out longer, making more money. He loved nothing more than to lavish gifts upon his bride. He loved to see the glistening love in her eyes when he would bring her things like thise little crystal or porcelain perfume bottles she loved so much, or peppermint candies wrapped in a beautiful purple silk scarf or earrings made of gold. But these things are not what she really wanted. What she wanted was her husband and she wanted him home of a night. But there weretimes, many, many times, when he would be out fishing, ready to come home and he would spy a big old shark and he would forget all about Ilsa and home.
   They stuck it out a good six years until Ilsa, out of lonliness, became fond of a boy she had went to school with, who had moved away when they were in their eleventh year, but had recently moved back. He courted her, not knowing she was married. She felt guilty, but her lonliness surpassed that guilt.
   She asked Quint for a divorce, three months later.
   He was devistated.
   He gave her the divorce, reluctantly and he left brier Island with a heavy heart. In his heart, he knew she was right, but he still hadnt wanted to 'let go'. He carried his torch for her, the longest.
   Quints life seemed to run together the following decade. His life consisted of just fishing, drinking, sleeping and eating. Nothing more. No one on his life meant no emotional pain, so he revelled in the wall that he had built around his heart. It was safe, there. If no one could penetrate it, then he couldnt get hurt. The problem was, now, he was getting too cold and hard, outwardly, to attract someone should he change his mind.
   At the age of 38, there was terror on Amity Island. A Boston billionaire by the name of Edmund Bancroft the third was trying to buy up the entire island to turn it into a fancy gambling mecca. He didnt want any private homes, no piershacks, nothing left. He wanted the entire island razed to build luxury hotels, fancy piers for expensive yachts and casinos to litter the landscape, along with theaters, restraunts and a host of other money making ventures. Bancroft had been arguing with the mayor and the counsil for months, offering sums of money that would make a fishermans head spin, but, thankfully, out of sentiment from the islanders and the fishermen, as well...along with a little help from the big expensive restraunts up and down the eastern seaboard, they staved off Edmund Bancroft and his money.
   But later that summer, Bancroft called in some quite unsavory characters to try and persuade the islanders in a more frightening way to leave. Homes burned. People were terrorized, beaten and robbed by mysterious intruders. Everyone knew who was behind it all, but it was all made to appear as if merely the crime rate in Amity was climbing, so the FBI wouldnt be able to come in and help.
   In the wee hours of the morning of august 23rd, 1965, Quint was awaken by an explosion that rattled the windows in his piershack and brought him straight up out of a sound sleep.
   "What the hell?!", he mumbled sleepily to himself as he sat up on the edge of the bed, trying to clear his head and unblur his eyes.
   Suddenly, he noticed a glow reflecting on the windows panes across the room. A strange, soft orange glow coming from somewhere close outside in the darkness, down below, near the water.
   He got up and walked slowly to the window and looked out.
   What he saw reminded him of the USS Indianapolis.
   At first, he couldnt believe his eyes. He thought he might ba having another nightmare about the Indy. He'd been having nightmares often since he was discharged from the Navy about what happened. He stood there, just staring down at the pier, simply not believeing what he was seeing...
   It looked like the Orca was on fire.
   Quint was starting to get afraid, now. Just the previous night, his piershack was set on fire. He lost alot of expensive gear in that fire, but it didnt detroy the building and it hadnt reached the upper portion of the building, the living quarters. Only the storage area, below, where he kept his gear.
   "Quint!!", someone called up at him, "QUINT!!...Get yer ass down here!!". It was Sammy Taylor, a fishing buddy who docked his boat in the same cove.
   Quint ran down the stairs, wrestling with his pants on the way down, trying to put them on as he went.
   The Orca was on fire. Some of the cove fishermen were dousing it with water, trying to put it out.
   "Okay, Quint", one of the guys joked with him, trying to lighten the mood as he threw water one it, "who ever's wife you slept with this time, you'd better not do it again!".
   It took Quint and the other men almost an hour to get the fire out, but not before someone else's boat suddenly exploded into flames. Then another.
   Quint and his peers spent all night putting out boat fires. When dawn broke, the men left behind a fleet of charred fishing boats and went to the sheriffs office.
   "We have a pretty good idea who's behind this, Quint", sheriff Jeff Becker told him as the others listened, "and I'll do my best to try to get proof, but I wouldnt hold my breath". This was when Quint was introduced to the information, or the rumor, rather, that Edmund Bancroft had made a pact with an organized crime synidicate to try and run everyone off of the island.
   After this, the Amity fishermen went on to repair their boats, their lifes blood. And in the meantime, they took turns patrolling their cove every night.
   Quint had called a friend of his from the Indy, Ralph Beauchamp who was now a big time tv reporter and told him what was going on in Amity. Ralph said he'd look into it.
   Within a matter of days, the island was crawling with reporters, tv crews and cameras. Because of the heat the media was generating, the FBI was called in. An investigation had begun.
   The island residents came together and hired a lawyer who had offered his services for free and filed a lawsuit against Bancroft for damages.
   During the trial, Quint became infatuated with a young woman who was in the courtroom everyday. No one knew who she was, but he was determined to find out. In fact, he became so enthused with her, that the trial was suddenly of no importance to him, anymore. He was going to the trail everyday just to look at her. She was so...beautiful. She was tall and slender, with alabaster skin and auburn hair and ultrafeminine in every aspect. he felt "tingly" all thorugh his body, as if there were a constant surge of electricity soursing through him.
   It took him a month just to get the courage to ask her name. Then it took another month to gain the courage to ask her for a date. This was all very discouraging for Quint, since he was quite the ladies man. It seemed women just fell all over him with just a mere glance or smile from him. He had never had to actually "chase" a woman before, so he was not used to this at all and wasnt really sure how to go about it.
   But, he managed it. They dated almost every night since thier forst date, never wanting to be apart. When they werent physically together, they were on the phone with each other. Quint never seemed to mind standing outside of the SeaShell cafe until the cold, damp, wee hours of the morning at the payphone, just so long as he could hear the sweet sound of his lovely Elena's voice.
   However, Quint found out that she was the daughter of his most hated enemy...Edmund Bancroft. As much as he loved her, was equal for his hatred toward her father. He walked away from her after finding out who she was only to cool himself down, to figure out what he thought he should do...he wanted to marry her, but didnt want to be related to that bastard! But, when he went back to find her, she was gone. Nowhere to be found. She was gone.

   The summer of 1975 found a bitter, alcoholic Michael Quint, doing what he had been doing for years...fishing and sharking. Now, at age 48, there really much else left in life for him but this. He hadnt seen Jessica or Peanut in 15 years, he had heard Ilsa remarried, to an old high school sweetheart and Elena...well, if she had truly loved him, she most certainly would have been back, by now. He had had a few insignificant "trysts" over the years, but he made sure to never let his heart get involved. It wasnt too difficult.
   So he sailed and he sharked and he fished, selling his wares up and down the eastern coast He had come to have quite the reputation as a sharker when he caught that 14 foot great white off the coast of Montauk in 1970, so it was of no suprise when he was called upon to rid Amity of a huge predator that was picking off the toursits.
   The new chief of police, Martin Brody, had taken Quint up on his offer, when Quint had went to a public town meeting to discuss this dangerous problem. But Brody had to battle the Mayor, Larry Vaughn, over hiring him. Vaughn didnt want to spend money nor draw any unsavory attention for the islands biggest event, the 4th of july annual regatta.
   But when the shark attacked some swimmers too close to his own kids, mayor Vaughn had no choice but to accept Brody's decision to hire Quint to kill the shark.
   By this time, Quint was too "put off" to give a damned about the mayor, the chief or the island...or the tasty-morsel-tourists that the shark was munching on. Vaughn had made it quite clear Quint was not wanted. It took chief Brody and a young fellow by the name of Matt Hooper, a specialists from the Oceanographic Institute in Boston that Brody had called up for assistance to talk Quint into helping out. Brody had to make Quint alot of promises to get him after that shark, but it was well worth it. They had a rough time going after that shark. It had been the biggest shark Quint had ever seen, even again.
   But he got it. And it even helped him when he decided to run for mayor, years later.


   In the summer of 1979, Elena returned to Amity, to find Quint. She could no longer live without him. Scared to death of his volatile temper, but even more afraid that he would no longer want her...after all, it had been 14 years...she rented a little cottage to live in while working on her courage to confront him, but he found her first...
   So did a gang of hoodlums that had been terrorizing the Island community for many months.
   They tried robbing Elena and they had a grudge against Quint, because of the confrontation he had had with them over The Sea Pearl, Elenas boat.
   But Quint beat them at their own game and they ended up in prison and, on the 18th of October, 1979, Elena wed her hero on the bridge of his beloved Orca, with a greatful island community cheering them on.

   Today, Michael Quint is still fishing, still sharking and sailing. He and Elena had two children together, their son Mike and their daughter, Elizabeth. Quint and Elena ahve had some rough times, but they have always weathered thier storms together and have come away from them more deeply in love and more devoted to each other than before.
   But, most times, you can find Michael Quint setting only about five miles off shore of his home in Bodega Bay, California, thinking about his life, musing over it as if it had all simply been a dream. Nothing seemed to be real from the time his ship went down in the summer of '45 until the day he married his Elena. How could all that time be only a bad nightmare? How could he lose all of that time?
   He gave in to the idea that, perhaps, it was some sort of due-paying system that life forced one into. That had something to do with what his grandfather had told him one time, about one cannot have the good without the bad. So he resigned to the belief that all of those years had merely been the dues he should pay for a good life, later on...the good life he was having with Elena. It wasnt perfect, by any means, but he had finally found a woman who could not ontl understand him, they way he thought and felt about everything, but a woman who would stick with him, through thick and thin. Thats what he had always wanted, after all.

   The man of the sea was growing old, but he was a happy man, regardless. He had fulfilled a dream, had fought for his country and had cut a path into life for himself.
   Thats all he had ever, truly wanted.

***************************************The End*********************************