At Home at the Zoo Page 5

  PETER

  Your parents … perhaps … a girlfriend …

  JERRY

  You’re a very sweet man, and you’re possessed of a truly enviable innocence. But good old Mom and good old Pop are dead … you know? … I’m broken up about it, too … I mean really. BUT. That particular vaudeville act is playing the cloud circuit now, so I don’t see how I can look at them, all neat and framed. Besides, or, rather, to be pointed about it, good old Mom walked out on good old Pop when I was ten and a half years old; she embarked on an adulterous turn of our southern states … a journey of a year’s duration … and her most constant companion … among others, among many others … was a Mr. Barleycorn. At least, that’s what good old Pop told me after he went down … came back … brought her body north. We’d received the news between Christmas and New Year’s, you see, that good old Mom had parted with the ghost in some dump in Alabama. And, without the ghost … she was less welcome. I mean, what was she? A stiff … a northern stiff. At any rate, good old Pop celebrated the New Year for an even two weeks and then slapped into the front of a somewhat moving city omnibus, which sort of cleaned things out family-wise. Well no; then there was Mom’s sister, who was given neither to sin nor the consolations of the bottle. I moved in on her, and my memory of her is slight excepting I remember still that she did all things dourly: sleeping, eating, working, praying. She dropped dead on the stairs to her apartment, my apartment then, too, on the afternoon of my high school graduation. A terribly middle-European joke, if you ask me.

  PETER

  Oh, my; oh, my.

  JERRY

  Oh, your what? But that was a long time ago, and I have no feeling about any of it that I care to admit to myself. Perhaps you can see, though, why good old Mom and good old Pop are frameless. What’s your name? Your first name?

  PETER

  I’m Peter.

  JERRY

  I’d forgotten to ask you. I’m Jerry.

  PETER (With a slight nervous laugh.)

  Hello, Jerry.

  JERRY (Nods his hello.)

  And let’s see now; what’s the point of having a girl’s picture, especially in two frames? I have two picture frames, you remember. I never see the pretty little ladies more than once, and most of them wouldn’t be caught in the same room with a camera. It’s odd, and I wonder if it’s sad.

  PETER

  The girls?

  JERRY

  No. I wonder if it’s sad that I never see the little ladies more than once. I’ve never been able to have sex with, or, how is it put? … make love to anybody more than once. Once; that’s it … Oh, wait; for a week and a half, when I was fifteen … and I hang my head in shame that puberty was late … I was a h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l. I mean, I was queer …

  (Very fast.)

  … queer, queer, queer … with bells ringing, banners snapping in the wind. And for those eleven days, I met at least twice a day with the park superintendent’s son … a Greek boy, whose birthday was the same as mine, except he was a year older. I think I was very much in love … maybe just with sex. But that was the jazz of a very special hotel, wasn’t it? And now; oh, do I love the little ladies; really, I love them. For about an hour.

  PETER

  Well, it seems perfectly simple to me, you just haven’t met …

  JERRY (Angry.)

  Look! Are you going to tell me to get married and have parakeets?

  PETER (Angry, himself.)

  Forget the parakeets! And stay single if you want to. It’s no business of mine. I didn’t start this conversation in the …

  JERRY

  All right, all right. I’m sorry. All right? You’re not angry?

  PETER (Laughing.)

  No, I’m not angry.

  JERRY

  Good. Interesting that you asked me about the picture frames. I would have thought that you would have asked me about the pornographic playing cards.

  PETER (With a knowing smile.)

  Oh, I’ve seen those cards.

  JERRY

  That’s not the point.

  (Laughs.)

  I suppose when you were a kid you and your pals passed them around, or you had a pack of your own.

  PETER

  Well, I guess a lot of us did.

  JERRY

  And you threw them away just before you got married.

  PETER

  Oh, now; look here. I didn’t need anything like that when I got older.

  JERRY

  No?

  PETER (Embarrassed.)

  I’d rather not talk about these things.

  JERRY

  So? Don’t. Besides, I wasn’t trying to plumb your postadolescent sexual life and hard times; what I wanted to get at is the value difference between pornographic playing cards when you’re a kid, and pornographic playing cards when you’re older. It’s that when you’re a kid you use the cards as a substitute for real experience, and when you’re older you use real experience as a substitute for the fantasy. But I imagine you’d rather hear about what happened at the zoo.

  PETER (Enthusiastic.)

  Oh, yes; the zoo.

  (Then awkward.)

  That is … if you …

  JERRY

  Let me tell you about why I went … well, let me tell you some things. I’ve told you about the fourth floor of the rooming-house where I live. I think the rooms are better as you go down; floor by floor. I guess they are; I don’t know. I don’t know any of the people on the third and second floors. Oh, wait! I do know that there’s a lady living on the third floor, in the front. I know because she cries all the time. Whenever I go out or come back in, whenever I pass her door, I always hear her crying, muffled, but … very determined. Very determined indeed. But the one I’m getting to, and all about the dog, is the landlady. I don’t like to use words that are too harsh in describing people. I don’t like to. But the landlady is a fat, ugly, mean, stupid, unwashed, misanthropic, cheap, drunken bag of garbage. And you may have noticed that I very seldom use profanity, so I can’t describe her as well as I might.

  PETER

  You describe her … vividly.

  JERRY

  Well, thanks. Anyway, she has a dog, and she and her dog are the gatekeepers of my dwelling. The woman is bad enough; she leans around in the entrance hall, spying to see that I don’t bring in things or people, and when she’s had her mid-afternoon pint of lemon-flavored gin she always stops me in the hall, and grabs ahold of my coat or my arm, and she presses her disgusting body up against me to keep me in a corner so she can talk to me. The smell of her body and her breath … you can’t imagine it … and somewhere, somewhere in the back of that pea-sized brain of hers, an organ developed just enough to let her eat, drink, and emit, she has some foul parody of sexual desire. And I, Peter, am the object of her sweaty lust.

  PETER

  That’s disgusting. That’s … horrible.

  JERRY

  But I have found a way to keep her off. When she talks to me, when she presses herself to my body and mumbles about her room and how I should come there, I merely say: but, Love; wasn’t yesterday enough for you, and the day before? Then she puzzles, she makes slits of her tiny eyes, she sways a little, and then, Peter … and it is at this moment that I think I might be doing some good in that tormented house … a simple-minded smile begins to form on her unthinkable face, and she giggles and groans as she thinks about yesterday and the day before; as she believes and relives what never happened. Then, she motions to that black monster of a dog she has, and she goes back to her room. And I am safe until our next meeting.

  PETER

  It’s so … I find it hard to believe that people such as that really are.

  JERRY (Lightly mocking.)

  It’s for reading about, isn’t it?

  PETER (Seriously.)

  Yes.

  JERRY

  And fact is better left to fiction. You’re right, Peter. Well, what I have been meaning to tell you about is the dog
; I shall, now.

  PETER (Nervously.)

  Oh yes; the dog.

  JERRY

  Don’t go. You’re not thinking of going, are you?

  PETER (Nervously.)

  Well … no, I don’t think so.

  JERRY (As if to a child.)

  Because after I tell you about the dog, do you know what then? Then … then I’ll tell you about what happened at the zoo.

  PETER (Laughing faintly.)

  You’re … you’re full of stories, aren’t you?

  JERRY

  You don’t have to listen. Nobody is holding you here; remember that. Keep that in your mind.

  PETER (Irritably.)

  I know that.

  JERRY

  You do? Good.

  (The following speech, it seems to me, should be done with a great deal of action, to achieve a hypnotic effect on PETER, and on the audience, too. Some specific actions have been suggested, but the director and the actor playing JERRY might best work it out for themselves.)

  ALL RIGHT.

  (As if reading from a huge billboard.)

  THE STORY OF JERRY AND THE DOG!

  (Natural again.)

  What I am going to tell you has something to do with how sometimes it’s necessary to go a long distance out of the way in order to come back a short distance correctly; or, maybe I only think it has something do with that. But, it’s why I went to the zoo today, and why I walked north … northerly, rather … until I came here. All right. The dog, I think I told you, is a black monster of a beast: an oversized head, tiny, tiny ears, and eyes … bloodshot, infected, maybe; and a body you can see the ribs through the skin. The dog is black, all black; all black except for the bloodshot eyes, and … yes … and an open sore on its … right forepaw; that is red, too. And, oh yes; the poor monster, and I do believe it’s an old dog … it’s certainly a misused one … almost always has an erection … of sorts. That’s red, too. And … what else? … oh, yes; there’s a gray-yellow-white color, too, when he bares his fangs. Like this: Grrrrrrr! Which is what he did when he saw me for the first time … the day I moved in. I worried about that animal the very first minute I met him. Now, animals don’t take to me like Saint Francis had birds hanging off him all the time. What I mean is: Animals are indifferent to me … like people

  (He smiles lightly.)

  … most of the time. But this dog wasn’t indifferent. From the very beginning he’d snarl and then go for me, to get one of my legs. Not like he was rabid, you know; he was sort of a stumbly dog, but he wasn’t half-assed, either. It was a good, stumbly run; but I always got away. He got a piece of my trouser leg, look, you see right here, where it’s mended; he got that the second day I lived there; but, I kicked free and got upstairs fast, so that was that.

  (Puzzles.)

  I still don’t know to this day how the other roomers manage it, but you know what I think: I think it had only to do with me. Cozy. So. Anyway, this went on for over a week, whenever I came in; but never when I went out. That’s funny. Or, it was funny. I could pack up and live in the street for all the dog cared. Well, I thought about it up in my room one day, one of the times after I’d bolted upstairs, and I made up my mind. I decided: First, I’ll kill the dog with kindness, and if that doesn’t work … I’ll just kill him.

  (PETER winces.)

  Don’t react, Peter; just listen. So, the next day I went out and bought a bag of hamburgers, medium rare, no catsup, no onion; and on the way home I threw away all the rolls and kept just the meat.

  (Action for the following, perhaps.)

  When I got back to the rooming-house the dog was waiting for me. I half opened the door that led into the entrance hall, and there it was; waiting for me. It figured. I went in, very cautiously, and I had the hamburgers, you remember; I opened the bag, and I set the meat down about twelve feet from where the dog was snarling at me. Like so! He snarled; stopped snarling; sniffed; moved slowly; then faster; then faster toward the meat. Well, when he got to it he stopped, and he looked at me. I smiled; but tentatively, you understand. He turned his face back to the hamburgers, smelled, sniffed some more, and then … RRRAAAAGGGGGHHHH, like that … he tore into them. It was as if he had never eaten anything in his life before, except like garbage. Which might very well have been the truth. I don’t think the landlady ever eats anything but garbage. But. He ate all the hamburgers, almost all at once, making sounds in his throat like a woman. Then, when he’d finished the meat, the hamburger, and tried to eat the paper, too, he sat down and smiled. I think he smiled; I know cats do. It was a very gratifying few moments. Then, BAM, he snarled and made for me again. He didn’t get me this time, either. So, I got upstairs, and I lay down on my bed and started to think about the dog again. To be truthful, I was offended, and I was damn mad, too. It was six perfectly good hamburgers with not enough pork in them to make it disgusting. I was offended. But, after a while, I decided to try it again for a few more days. If you think about it, this dog had what amounted to an antipathy toward me; really. And, I wondered if I mightn’t overcome this antipathy. So, I tried it for five more days, but it was always the same: snarl, sniff; move; faster; stare; gobble; RAAGGGHHH; smile; snarl; BAM. Well, now; by this time Columbus Avenue was strewn with hamburger rolls and I was less offended than disgusted. So I decided to kill the dog.

  (PETER raises his hand in protest.)

  Oh, don’t be so alarmed, Peter; I didn’t succeed. The day I tried to kill the dog I bought only one hamburger and what I thought was a murderous portion of rat poison. When I bought the hamburger I asked the man not to bother with the rolls, all I wanted was the meat. I expected some reaction from him, like: We don’t sell no hamburgers without rolls; or, wha’ d’ya wanna do, eat it out’a ya han’s? But no; he smiled benignly, wrapped the hamburger in waxed paper, and said: A bite for ya pussycat? I wanted to say: No, not really; it’s part of a plan to poison a dog I know. But, you can’t say “a dog I know” without sounding funny; so I said, a little too loud, I’m afraid, and too formally: YES, A BITE FOR MY PUSSYCAT. People looked up. It always happens when I try to simplify things; people look up. But that’s neither hither nor thither. So. On my way back to the rooming-house, I kneaded the hamburger and the rat poison together between my hands, at that point feeling as much sadness as disgust. I opened the door to the entrance hall, and there the monster was, waiting to take the offering and then jump me. Poor bastard; he never did learn that the moment he took to smile before he went for me gave me time enough to get out of range. BUT, there he was; malevolence with an erection, waiting. I put the poison patty down, moved toward the stairs and watched. The poor animal gobbled the food down as usual, smiled, which made me almost sick, and then, BAM. But, I sprinted up the stairs, as usual, and the dog didn’t get me, as usual. AND IT CAME TO PASS THAT THE BEAST WAS DEATHLY ILL. I knew this because he no longer attended me, and because the landlady sobered up. She stopped me in the hall the same evening of the attempted murder and confided the information that God had struck her puppy-dog a surely fatal blow. She had forgotten her bewildered lust, and her eyes were wide open for the first time. They looked like the dog’s eyes. She sniveled and implored me to pray for the animal. I wanted to say to her: Madam, I have myself to pray for, the black queen, the Puerto Rican family, the person in the front room whom I’ve never seen, the woman who cries deliberately behind her closed door, and the rest of the people in all rooming-houses, everywhere; besides, Madam, I don’t understand how to pray. But … to simplify things … I told her I would pray. She looked up. She said that I was a liar and that I probably wanted the dog to die. I told her, and there was so much truth here, that I didn’t want the dog to die. I didn’t, and not just because I’d poisoned him. I’m afraid that I must tell you I wanted the dog to live so that I could see what our new relationship might come to.

  (PETER indicates his increasing displeasure and slowly growing antagonism.)

  Please understand, Peter; that sort of thing is imp
ortant. We have to know the effect of our actions.

  (Another deep sigh.)

  Well, anyway; the dog recovered. I have no idea why, unless he was a descendant of the puppy that guarded the gates of hell or some such resort. I’m not up on my mythology.

  (He pronounces the word myth-o-logy.)

  Are you?

  (PETER sets to thinking, but JERRY goes on.)

  At any rate, and you’ve missed the eight-thousand-dollar question, Peter; at any rate, the dog recovered his health and the landlady recovered her thirst, in no way altered by the bow-wow’s deliverance. When I came home from a movie that was playing on Forty-second Street, a movie I’d seen, or one that was very much like one or several I’d seen, after the landlady told me puppykins was better, I was so hoping for the dog to be waiting for me. I was … well, how would you put it … enticed? … fascinated? … no, I don’t think so … heart-shatteringly anxious, that’s it; I was heart-shatteringly anxious to confront my friend again.

  (PETER reacts scoffingly.)

  Yes, Peter; friend. That’s the only word for it. I was heart-shatteringly et cetera to confront my doggy friend again. I came in the door and advanced, unafraid, to the center of the entrance hall. The beast was there … looking at me. And, you know, he looked better for his scrape with the nevermind. I stopped; I looked at him; he looked at me. I think … I think we stayed a long time that way … still, stone-statue … just looking at one another. I looked more into his face than he looked into mine. I mean, I can concentrate longer at looking into a dog’s face than a dog can look into mine, or into anybody else’s face for that matter. But during that twenty seconds or two hours that we looked into each other’s face, we made contact. Now, here is what I had wanted to happen: I loved the dog now, and I wanted him to love me. I had tried to love, and I had tried to kill, and both had been unsuccessful by themselves. I hoped … and I don’t really know why I expected the dog to understand anything, much less my motivations … I hoped that the dog would understand.

  (PETER seems to be hypnotized.)

  It’s just … it’s just that …

  (JERRY is abnormally tense now.)