At Home at the Zoo

by Edward Albee

  … it’s just that if you can’t deal with people, you have to make a start somewhere. WITH ANIMALS!

  (Much faster now, like a conspirator.)

  Don’t you see? A person has to have some way of dealing with SOMETHING! With a bed, with a cockroach, with a mirror … no, that’s too hard, that’s one of the last steps. With a cockroach, with a … with a … with a carpet, a roll of toilet paper … no, not that, either … that’s a mirror, too; always check bleeding. You see how hard it is to find things? With a street corner … with a wisp of smoke, a wisp … of smoke … with … with pornographic playing cards, with a strongbox … WITHOUT A LOCK … with love, with vomiting, with crying, with fury because the pretty little ladies aren’t pretty little ladies, with making money with your body which is an act of love and I could prove it, with howling because you’re alive; with God. WITH GOD WHO IS A BLACK QUEEN WHO WEARS A KIMONO AND PLUCKS HIS EYEBROWS, WHO IS A WOMAN WHO CRIES WITH DETERMINATION BEHIND HER CLOSED DOOR … with God who, I’m told, turned his back on the whole thing some time ago … with … someday with people.

  (JERRY sighs the next word heavily.)

  People. With an idea; a concept. And where better, where ever better in this humiliating excuse for a jail, where better to communicate one single simpleminded idea than in an entrance hall? Where? It would be A START! Where better to make a beginning … to understand and just possibly be understood … a beginning of an understanding, than with …

  (Here JERRY seems to fall into almost grotesque fatigue.)

  … than with A DOG. Just that; a dog.

  (Here there is a silence that might be prolonged for a moment or so; then JERRY wearily finishes his story.)

  A dog. It seemed like a perfectly sensible idea. Man is a dog’s best friend, remember. So: The dog and I looked at each other. I longer than the dog. And what I saw then has been the same ever since. Whenever the dog and I see each other we both stop where we are. We regard each other with a mixture of sadness and suspicion, and then we feign indifference. We walk past each other safely; we have an understanding. It’s very sad, but you’ll have to admit that it is an understanding. We had made many attempts at contact, and we had failed. The dog has returned to garbage and I to solitary but free passage. I have not returned. I mean to say, I have gained solitary free passage, if that much further loss can be said to be gain. I have learned that neither kindness nor cruelty by themselves, independent of each other, creates any effect beyond themselves; and I have learned that the two combined, together, at the same time, are the teaching emotion. And what is gained is loss. And what has been the result: The dog and I have attained a compromise; more of a bargain, really. We neither love nor hurt because we do not try to reach each other. And, was trying to feed the dog an act of love? And, perhaps, was the dog’s attempt to bite me not an act of love? If we can so misunderstand, well then, why have we invented the word love in the first place?

  (There is silence.)

  The Story of Jerry and the Dog: the end.

  (PETER is silent.)

  Well, Peter?

  (JERRY is suddenly cheerful.)

  Well, Peter? Do you think I could sell that story to the Reader’s Digest and make a couple of hundred bucks for “The Most Unforgettable Character I’ve Ever Met”? Huh?

  (JERRY is animated, but PETER is disturbed.)

  Oh, come on, now, Peter; tell me what you think.

  PETER (Numb.)

  I … I don’t understand … I don’t think I …

  (Now, almost tearfully.)

  Why did you tell me all of this?

  JERRY

  Why not?

  PETER

  I DON’T UNDERSTAND!

  JERRY

  (Furious; but whispering.)

  That’s a lie.

  PETER

  No. No, it’s not.

  JERRY (Quietly.)

  I tried to explain it to you as I went along. I went slowly; it all has to do with …

  PETER

  I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANYMORE. I don’t understand you, or your landlady, or her dog …

  JERRY

  Her dog! I thought it was my … No. No, you’re right. It is her dog.

  (Looks at PETER, intently, shaking his head.)

  I don’t know what I was thinking about; of course you don’t understand.

  (In a monotone, wearily.)

  I don’t live in your block; I’m not married to two parakeets, or whatever your setup is. I am a permanent transient, and my home is the sickening rooming-houses on the West Side of New York City, which is the greatest city in the world. Amen. And I’m here, and I’m not leaving.

  PETER (Consulting his watch.)

  Well, you may not be, but I must be getting home soon.

  JERRY

  Oh, come on; stay a little while longer.

  PETER

  I really should get home; you see …

  JERRY

  (Tickles PETER’s ribs with his fingers.)

  Oh, come on.

  PETER

  (He is very ticklish; as JERRY continues to tickle him his voice becomes falsetto.)

  No, I … OHHHHH! Don’t do that. Stop, stop. Ohhh, no, no.

  JERRY

  Oh, come on.

  PETER (As JERRY tickles.)

  Oh, hee, hee, hee. I must go. I … hee, hee, hee. After all, the parakeets will be getting dinner ready soon. Hee, hee. And the cats are setting the table. Stop, stop, and, and …

  (PETER is beside himself now.)

  … and we’re having … hee, hee … uh … ho, ho, ho

  (JERRY stops tickling PETER, but the combination of the tickling and his own mad whimsy has PETER laughing almost hysterically. As his laughter continues, then subsides, JERRY watches him, with a curious fixed smile.)

  JERRY

  Peter?

  PETER

  Oh, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. What? What?

  JERRY

  Listen, now.

  PETER

  Oh ho, ho. What … what is it, Jerry? Oh, my.

  JERRY (Mysteriously.)

  Peter, do you want to know what happened at the zoo?

  PETER

  Ah, ha, ha. The what? Oh, yes; the zoo. Oh, ho, ho. Well, I had my own zoo there for a moment with … hee, hee, the parakeets getting dinner ready, and the … ha, ha, whatever it was, the …

  JERRY (Calmly.)

  Yes, that was very funny, Peter. I wouldn’t have expected it. But do you want to hear about what happened at the zoo, or not?

  PETER

  Yes. Yes, by all means; tell me what happened at the zoo. Oh, my. I don’t know what happened to me.

  JERRY

  Now I’ll let you in on what happened at the zoo; but first, I should tell you why I went to the zoo. I went to the zoo to find out more about the way people exist with animals, and the way animals exist with each other, and with people too. It probably wasn’t a fair test, what with everyone separated by bars from everyone else, the animals for the most part from each other, and always the people from the animals. But, if it’s a zoo, that’s the way it is.

  (He pokes PETER on the arm.)

  Move over.

  PETER (Friendly.)

  I’m sorry, haven’t you enough room?

  (He shifts a little.)

  JERRY (Smiling slightly.)

  Well, all the animals are there, and all the people are there, and it’s Sunday, and all the children are there.

  (He pokes PETER again.)

  Move over.

  PETER (Patiently, still friendly.)

  All right.

  (He moves some more, and JERRY has all the room he might need.)

  JERRY

  And it’s a hot day, so all the stench is there, too, and all the balloon sellers, and all the ice cream sellers, and all the seals are barking, and all the birds are screaming.

  (Pokes PETER harder.)

  Move over!

  PETER (Beginning to be annoyed.)

  Look here, you
have more than enough room!

  (But he moves more and is now fairly cramped at one end of the bench.)

  JERRY

  And I am there, and it’s feeding time at the lions’ house, and the lion keeper comes into the lion cage, one of the lion cages, to feed one of the lions.

  (Punches PETER on the arm, hard.)

  MOVE OVER!

  PETER (Very annoyed.)

  I can’t move over any more, and stop hitting me. What’s the matter with you?

  JERRY

  Do you want to hear the story?

  (Punches PETER’s arm again.)

  PETER (Flabbergasted.)

  I’m not so sure! I certainly don’t want to be punched in the arm.

  JERRY (Punches PETER’s arm again.)

  Like that?

  PETER

  Stop it! What’s the matter with you?

  JERRY

  I’m crazy, you bastard.

  PETER

  That isn’t funny.

  JERRY

  Listen to me, Peter. I want this bench. You go sit on the bench over there, and if you’re good I’ll tell you the rest of the story.

  PETER (Flustered.)

  But … whatever for? What is the matter with you? Besides, I see no reason why I should give up this bench. I sit on this bench almost every Sunday afternoon, in good weather. It’s secluded here; there’s never anyone sitting here, so I have it all to myself.

  JERRY (Softly.)

  Get off this bench, Peter; I want it.

  PETER (Almost whining.)

  No.

  JERRY

  I said I want this bench, and I’m going to have it. Now get over there.

  PETER

  People can’t have everything they want. You should know that; it’s a rule; people can have some of the things they want, but they can’t have everything.

  JERRY (Laughs.)

  Imbecile! You’re slow-witted.

  PETER

  Stop that!

  JERRY

  You’re a vegetable! Go lie down on the ground.

  PETER (Intense.)

  Now you listen to me. I’ve put up with you all afternoon.

  JERRY

  Not really.

  PETER

  LONG ENOUGH. I’ve put up with you long enough. I’ve listened to you because you seemed … well, because I thought you wanted to talk to somebody.

  JERRY

  You put things well; economically, and, yet … oh, what is the word I want to put justice to your … JESUS, you make me sick … get off here and give me my bench.

  PETER

  MY BENCH!

  JERRY (Pushes PETER off the bench.)

  Get out of my sight.

  PETER (Regaining his position.)

  God da … mn you. That’s enough! I’ve had enough of you. I will not give up this bench; you can’t have it, and that’s that. Now, go away.

  (JERRY snorts but does not move.)

  Go away, I said.

  (JERRY does not move.)

  Get away from here. If you don’t move on … you’re a bum … that’s what you are … If you don’t move on, I’ll get a policeman here and make you go.

  (JERRY laughs, stays.)

  I warn you, I’ll call a policeman.

  JERRY (Softly.)

  You won’t find a policeman around here; they’re all over on the west side of the park chasing fairies down from trees or out of the bushes. That’s all they do. That’s their function. So scream your head off; it won’t do you any good.

  PETER

  POLICE! I warn you, I’ll have you arrested. POLICE!

  (Pause.)

  I said POLICE!

  (Pause.)

  I feel ridiculous.

  JERRY

  You look ridiculous: a grown man screaming for the police on a bright Sunday afternoon in the park with nobody harming you. If a policeman did fill his quota and come sludging over this way he’d probably take you in as a nut.

  PETER (With disgust and impotence.)

  Great God, I just came here to read, and now you want me to give up the bench. You’re mad.

  JERRY

  Hey, I got news for you, as they say. I’m on your precious bench, and you’re never going to have it for yourself again.

  PETER (Furious.)

  Look, you; get off my bench. I don’t care if it makes any sense or not. I want this bench to myself; I want you OFF IT!

  JERRY (Mocking.)

  Aw … look who’s mad.

  PETER

  GET OUT!

  JERRY

  No.

  PETER

  I WARN YOU!

  JERRY

  Do you know how ridiculous you look now?

  PETER

  (His fury and self-consciousness have possessed him.)

  It doesn’t matter.

  (He is almost crying.)

  GET AWAY FROM MY BENCH!

  JERRY

  Why? You have everything in the world you want; you’ve told me about your home, and your family, and your own little zoo. You have everything, and now you want this bench. Are these the things men fight for? Tell me, Peter, is this bench, this iron and this wood, is this your honor? Is this the thing in the world you’d fight for? Can you think of anything more absurd?

  PETER

  Absurd? Look, I’m not going to talk to you about honor, or even try to explain it to you. Besides, it isn’t a question of honor; but even if it were, you wouldn’t understand.

  JERRY (Contemptuously.)

  You don’t even know what you’re saying, do you? This is probably the first time in your life you’ve had anything more trying to face than changing yours cats’ toilet box. Stupid! Don’t you have any idea, not even the slightest, what other people need?

  PETER

  Oh, boy, listen to you; well, you don’t need this bench. That’s for sure.

  JERRY

  Yes; yes, I do.

  PETER (Quivering.)

  I’ve come here for years; I have hours of great pleasure, great satisfaction, right here. And that’s important to a man. I’m a responsible person, and I’m a GROWNUP. This is my bench, and you have no right to take it away from me.

  JERRY

  Fight for it, then. Defend yourself; defend your bench.

  PETER

  You’ve pushed me to it. Get up and fight.

  JERRY

  Like a man?

  PETER (Still angry.)

  Yes, like a man, if you insist on mocking me even further.

  JERRY

  I’ll have to give you credit for one thing: You are a vegetable, and a slightly nearsighted one, I think …

  PETER

  THAT’S ENOUGH …

  JERRY

  … but, you know, as they say on TV all the time—you know—and I mean this, Peter, you have a certain dignity; it surprises me …

  PETER

  STOP!

  JERRY (Rises lazily.)

  Very well, Peter, we’ll battle for the bench, but we’re not evenly matched.

  (He takes out and clicks open an ugly-looking knife.)

  PETER

  (Suddenly awakening to the reality of the situation.)

  You are mad! You’re stark raving mad! YOU’RE GOING TO KILL ME?

  (But before PETER has time to think what to do, JERRY tosses the knife at PETER’s feet.)

  JERRY

  There you go. Pick it up. You have the knife and we’ll be more evenly matched.

  PETER (Horrified.)

  No!

  JERRY

  (Rushes over to PETER, grabs him by the collar; PETER rises; their faces almost touch.)

  Now you pick up that knife, and you fight with me. You fight for your self-respect; you fight for that goddamned bench.

  PETER (Struggling.)

  No! Let … go of me! He … Help!

  JERRY (Slaps PETER on each “fight.”)

  You fight, you miserable bastard; fight for that bench; fight for your manhood, you pa
thetic little vegetable.

  (Spits in PETER’s face.)

  You couldn’t even get your wife with a male child.

  PETER (Breaks away, enraged.)

  It’s a matter of genetics, not manhood, you … you monster.

  (He darts down, picks up the knife and backs off a little; he is breathing heavily.)

  I’ll give you one last chance; get out of here and leave me alone!

  (He holds the knife with a firm arm, but far in front of him, not to attack but to defend.)

  JERRY (Sighs heavily.)

  So be it!

  (With a rush, he charges PETER and impales himself completely on the knife. Tableau: For just a moment, complete silence, JERRY impaled on the knife at the end of PETER’s still firm arm. Then PETER screams, pulls away, leaving the knife in JERRY. JERRY is motionless, on point. Then he, too, screams, and it must be the sound of an infuriated and fatally wounded animal. With the knife in him, he stumbles back to the bench that PETER had vacated. He crumbles there, sitting, facing PETER, his eyes wide in agony, his mouth open.)

  PETER (Whispering.)

  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God …

  (He repeats these words many times, very rapidly. JERRY is dying; but now his expression seems to change. His features relax, and while his voice varies, sometimes wrenched with pain, for the most part he seems removed from his dying. He smiles.)

  JERRY

  Peter, thank you, Peter. I mean that, now; thank you very much.

  (PETER’s mouth drops open. He cannot move; he is transfixed.)

  I came unto you

  (He laughs, so faintly.)

  and you have comforted me. Dear Peter.

  PETER (Almost fainting.)

  Oh my God!

  JERRY

  You’d better go now. Somebody might come by, and you don’t want to be here when anyone comes.

  PETER

  (Does not move, but begins to weep.)

  Oh my God, oh my God.

  JERRY

  And Peter, I’ll tell you something now; you’re not really a vegetable; it’s all right, you’re an animal. You’re an animal, too. But you’d better hurry now, Peter. Hurry, you’d better go …

  (JERRY takes a handkerchief and with great effort and pain wipes the knife handle clean of fingerprints.)

  Hurry away, Peter.

  (PETER begins to stagger away.)

  Wait … wait, Peter. Take your book … book. Right here … beside me … on your bench … my bench, rather. Come … take your book.

  (PETER starts for the book, but retreats.)

  Hurry … Peter.

  (PETER rushes to the bench, grabs the book, retreats.)