Jaws

1
 
The great fish moved silently through the night water, propelled by short sweeps of its crescent tail. The mouth was open just enough to permit a rush of water over the gills. There was little other motion: an occasional correction of the apparently aimless course by the slight raising or lowering of a pectoral fin as a bird changes direction by dipping one wing and lifting the other. The eyes were sightless in the black, and the other senses transmitted nothing extraordinary to the small, primitive brain. The fish might have been asleep, save for the movement dictated by countless millions of years of instinctive continuity: lacking the flotation bladder common to other fish and the fluttering flaps to push oxygen-bearing water through its gills, it survived only by moving. Once stopped, it would sink to the bottom and die of anoxia.
 
The land seemed almost as dark as the water, for there was no moon. All that separated sea from shore was a long, straight stretch of beach so white that it shone. From a house behind the grass-splotched dunes, lights cast yellow glimmers on the sand.
 
The front door to the house opened, and a man and a woman stepped out onto the wooden porch. They stood for a moment staring at the sea, embraced quickly, and scampered down the few steps onto the sand. The man was drunk, and he stumbled on the bottom step. The woman laughed and took his hand, and together they ran to the beach.
 
First a swim, said the woman, to clear your head.
 
Forget my head, said the man. Giggling, he fell backward onto the sand, pulling the woman down with him. They fumbled with each other s clothing, twined limbs around limbs, and thrashed with urgent ardor on the cold sand.
 
Afterward, the man lay back and closed his eyes. The woman looked at him and smiled. Now, how about that swim? she said.
 
You go ahead. I ll wait for you here.
 
The woman rose and walked to where the gentle

Peter Benchley began his career as a novelist in 1974 with the publication of Jaws, which was made into a hugely successful film. His other books include The Deep, The Island, The Girl of the Sea of Cortez, Q Clearance, Rummies, Beast, White Shark, and Shark Trouble. He was also a speechwriter for President Lyndon Johnson and a journalist for such magazines as Newsweek and National Geographic. Benchley died in 2006.

A tightly written, tautly paced study of terror [that] makes us tingle. The Washington Post
 
Powerful . . . [Benchley s] story grabs you at once. The New York Times Book Review
 
Relentless terror . . . You d better steel yourself for this one. It isn t a tale for the faint of heart. The Philadelphia Inquirer
 
Pure engrossment from the very opening . . . a fine story told with style, class, and a splendid feeling for suspense. Chicago Sun-Times