English Language Practice Paper - Jaws
He glanced downward, started to look away, then snapped his eyes down again. Rising at him
from the darkling blue -- slowly, smoothly -- was the shark. It rose with no apparent effort, an
angel of death gliding toward an appointment foreordained. Hooper stared, enthralled, impelled
to flee but unable to move. As the fish drew nearer, he marvelled at its colours: the flat brown-
5 greys seen on the surface had vanished. The top of the immense body was a hard ferrous grey,
bluish where dappled with streaks of sun. Beneath the lateral line, all was creamy, ghostly
white. Hooper wanted to raise his camera, but his arm would not obey. In a minute, he said to
himself, in a minute. The fish came closer, silent as a shadow, and Hooper drew back. The head
was only a few feet from the cage when the fish turned and began to pass before Hooper's eyes
10 -- casually, as if in proud display of its incalculable mass and power. The snout passed first,
then the jaw, slack and smiling, armed with row upon row of serrate triangles. And then the
black, fathomless eye, seemingly riveted upon him. The gills rippled -- bloodless wounds in
the steely skin. Tentatively, Hooper stuck a hand through the bars and touched the flank. It felt
cold and hard, not clammy but smooth as vinyl. He let his fingertips caress the flesh -past the
15 pectoral fins, the pelvic fin, the thick, firm genital claspers -- until finally (the fish seemed to
have no end) they were slapped away by the sweeping tail. The fish continued to move away
from the cage. Hooper heard faint popping noises, and he saw three straight spirals of angry
bubbles speed from the surface, then slow and stop, well above the fish. Bullets. Not yet, he
told himself. One more pass for pictures. The fish began to turn, banking, the rubbery pectoral
20 fins changing pitch. "What the hell is he doing down there?" said Brody. "Why didn't he jab
him with the gun?" Quint didn't answer. He stood on the transom, harpoon clutched in his fist,
peering into the water. "Come up, fish," he said. "Come to Quint." "Do you see it?" said Brody.
"What's it doing?" "Nothing. Not yet, anyway." The fish had moved off to the limit of Hooper's
vision -- a spectral silver-grey blur tracing a slow circle. Hooper raised his camera and pressed
25 the trigger. He knew the film would be worthless unless the fish moved in once more, but he
wanted to catch the beast as it emerged from the darkness. Through the viewfinder he saw the
fish turn toward him. It moved fast, tail thrusting vigorously, mouth opening and closing as if
gasping for breath. Hooper raised his right hand to change the focus. Remember to change it
again, he told himself, when it turns. But the fish did not turn. A shiver travelled the length of
30 its body as it closed on the cage. It struck the cage head on, the snout ramming between two
bars and spreading them. The snout hit Hooper in the chest and knocked him backward. The
camera flew from his hands, and the mouthpiece shot from his mouth. The fish turned on its
side, and the pounding tail forced the great body farther into the cage. Hooper groped for his
mouthpiece but couldn't find it. His chest was convulsed with the need for air. "It's attacking!"
35 screamed Brody. He grabbed one of the tether ropes and pulled, desperately trying to raise the
cage. "God damn your fucking soul!" Quint shouted. "Throw it! Throw it!" "I can't throw it! I
gotta get him on the surface! Come up, you devil! You prick!" The fish slid backward out of
the cage and turned sharply to the right in a tight circle. Hooper reached behind his head, found
the regulator tube, and followed it with his hand until he located the mouthpiece. He put it in
his mouth and, forgetting to exhale first, sucked for air. He got water, and he gagged and choked
until at last the mouthpiece cleared and he drew an agonised breath. It was then that he saw the
wide gap in the bars and saw the giant head lunging through it. He raised his hands above his
head, grasping at the escape hatch.
Extract taken from Chapter 13 of ‘Jaws’ by Peter Benchley.
https://silo.pub/peter-benchley-jaws.html
He glanced downward, started to look away, then snapped his eyes down again. Rising at him
from the darkling blue -- slowly, smoothly -- was the shark. It rose with no apparent effort, an
angel of death gliding toward an appointment foreordained. Hooper stared, enthralled, impelled
to flee but unable to move. As the fish drew nearer, he marvelled at its colours: the flat brown-
5 greys seen on the surface had vanished. The top of the immense body was a hard ferrous grey,
bluish where dappled with streaks of sun. Beneath the lateral line, all was creamy, ghostly
white. Hooper wanted to raise his camera, but his arm would not obey. In a minute, he said to
himself, in a minute. The fish came closer, silent as a shadow, and Hooper drew back. The head
was only a few feet from the cage when the fish turned and began to pass before Hooper's eyes
10 -- casually, as if in proud display of its incalculable mass and power. The snout passed first,
then the jaw, slack and smiling, armed with row upon row of serrate triangles. And then the
black, fathomless eye, seemingly riveted upon him. The gills rippled -- bloodless wounds in
the steely skin. Tentatively, Hooper stuck a hand through the bars and touched the flank. It felt
cold and hard, not clammy but smooth as vinyl. He let his fingertips caress the flesh -past the
15 pectoral fins, the pelvic fin, the thick, firm genital claspers -- until finally (the fish seemed to
have no end) they were slapped away by the sweeping tail. The fish continued to move away
from the cage. Hooper heard faint popping noises, and he saw three straight spirals of angry
bubbles speed from the surface, then slow and stop, well above the fish. Bullets. Not yet, he
told himself. One more pass for pictures. The fish began to turn, banking, the rubbery pectoral
20 fins changing pitch. "What the hell is he doing down there?" said Brody. "Why didn't he jab
him with the gun?" Quint didn't answer. He stood on the transom, harpoon clutched in his fist,
peering into the water. "Come up, fish," he said. "Come to Quint." "Do you see it?" said Brody.
"What's it doing?" "Nothing. Not yet, anyway." The fish had moved off to the limit of Hooper's
vision -- a spectral silver-grey blur tracing a slow circle. Hooper raised his camera and pressed
25 the trigger. He knew the film would be worthless unless the fish moved in once more, but he
wanted to catch the beast as it emerged from the darkness. Through the viewfinder he saw the
fish turn toward him. It moved fast, tail thrusting vigorously, mouth opening and closing as if
gasping for breath. Hooper raised his right hand to change the focus. Remember to change it
again, he told himself, when it turns. But the fish did not turn. A shiver travelled the length of
30 its body as it closed on the cage. It struck the cage head on, the snout ramming between two
bars and spreading them. The snout hit Hooper in the chest and knocked him backward. The
camera flew from his hands, and the mouthpiece shot from his mouth. The fish turned on its
side, and the pounding tail forced the great body farther into the cage. Hooper groped for his
mouthpiece but couldn't find it. His chest was convulsed with the need for air. "It's attacking!"
35 screamed Brody. He grabbed one of the tether ropes and pulled, desperately trying to raise the
cage. "God damn your fucking soul!" Quint shouted. "Throw it! Throw it!" "I can't throw it! I
gotta get him on the surface! Come up, you devil! You prick!" The fish slid backward out of
the cage and turned sharply to the right in a tight circle. Hooper reached behind his head, found
the regulator tube, and followed it with his hand until he located the mouthpiece. He put it in
his mouth and, forgetting to exhale first, sucked for air. He got water, and he gagged and choked
until at last the mouthpiece cleared and he drew an agonised breath. It was then that he saw the
wide gap in the bars and saw the giant head lunging through it. He raised his hands above his
head, grasping at the escape hatch.
Extract taken from Chapter 13 of ‘Jaws’ by Peter Benchley.
https://silo.pub/peter-benchley-jaws.html
