The Zoo Story

THE ZOO STORY A PLAY IN ONE SCENE by Edward Albee for William Flanagan THE PLAYERS PETER: A man in his early forties, neither fat nor gaunt, neither handsome nor homely. He wears tweeds, smokes a pipe, carries horn-rimmed glasses. Although he is moving into middle age, his dress and his manner would suggest a man younger. JERRY: A man in his late thirties, not poorly dressed, but carelessly. What was once a trim and lightly muscled body has begun to go to fat; and while he is no longer handsome, it is evident that he once was. His fall from physical grace should not suggest debauchery; he has, to come closest to it, a great weariness. THE SCENE: It is Central Park; a Sunday afternoon in summer; the present. There are two park benches, one towards either side of the stage; they both face the audience. Behind them: foliage, trees, sky. [At the beiginning PETER is seated on one of the benches. As the curtain rises, PETER is seated on the bench stage-right. He is reading a book. He stops reading, cleans his glasses, goes back to reading. JERRY enters.] JERRY: I've been to the zoo. [PETER doesn't notice.] I said, I've been to the zoo. MISTER, I'VE BEEN TO THE ZOO! PETER: Hm? . . . What? . . . I'm sorry, were you talking to me? JERRY: I went to the zoo, and then I walked until I came here. Have I been walking north? PETER: [Puzzled] North? Why . . I . . . I think so. Let me see. JERRY: [Pointing past the audience] Is that Fifth avenue? PETER: Why ya; yes, it is. JERRY: And what is that cross street there; that one, to the right? PETER: That? Oh, that's Seventy-fourth Street. JERRY: And the zoo is around Sixty-Sfth Street; so, I've been walking north. PETER: [Anxious to get back to his reading] Yes; it would seem so. JERRY: Good old north. PETER: [Lightly, by reflex] Ha, ha. JERRY: [After a slight pause] But not due north. PETER: I ... well, no, not due north; but, we . . . call it north. It's northerly. JERRY: [Watches as PETER, anxcious to dismiss him, prepares his pipe.] Well, boy; you're not going to get lung cancer, are you? PETER: [Looks up, a little annoyed, then smiles.] No, sir. Not from this. JERRY: No, sir. What you'll probably get is cancer of the mouth, and then you'll have to wear one of those things Freud wore after they took one whole side of his jaw away. What do they call those things? PETER: [Uncomfortable] A prosthesis? JERRY: The very thing! A prosthesis. You're an educated man, aren't you ? Are you a doctor? PETER: Oh, no; no. I read about it somewhere: Time magazine, I think. [He turns to his book.] JERRY: Well, Time magazine isn't for blockheads. PETER: No, I suppose not. JERRY: [After a pause] Boy, I'm glad that's Fifth Avenue there. PETER: [Vaguely] Yes . JERRY: I don't like the west side of the park much. PETER: Oh? [Then, slightly wary, but interested] Why? JERRY: [Offhand] I don't know. PETER: Oh. [He returns to his book.] JERRY: [He stands for a few seconds, looking at PETER, who finally looks up again, puzzled] Do you mind if we talk? PETER: [Obviously minding] Why . . . no, no. JERRY: Yes you do; you do. PETER: [Puts his book down, his pipe out and away, smiling] No, I really; I don't mind. JERRY: Yes you do. PETER: [Finally decided] No; I don't mind at all, really. JERRY: It's ... it's a nice day. PETER: [Stares unnecessarily at the sky] Yes. Yes, it is; lovely. JERRY: I've been to the zoo. PETER: Yes, I think you said so ... didn't you? JERRY: You'll read about it in the papers tomorrow, if you don't see it on your TV ton