(2 men)
THE ZOO STORY
By Edward Albee

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, . . . 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:	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 ther.
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 . . . on, what is the word I want 
to put justice to you . . . JESUS, you make me sick . . . get off here and 
give me my bench.
PETER:	MY BENCH!
JERRY [pushes PETER almost, but not quite, 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’s 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 preciuos 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 possesed 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 everying, 
and now you want this bench.  Are these the things men 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 your 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 . . . let go of me!  He . . . Help!
JERRY [slaps PETER on each “fight”]:  Youfight, you miserable bastard; fight for that 
bench; fight for your parakeets; fight for your cats, fight for your two 
daughters; fight for your wife; fight for your manhood, you pathetic little 
vegetable.  [Spits in PETER’s face.]  You couldn’t even get your wife 
with a male child.
PETER [breads away, enraged]:  It’s a matter of genetics, no 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 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 has 
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 
man times, very rapidly.]
JERRY [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]:  Thank you, Peter.  I 
mean that, now; thank you very much.  [PETER’s mouth drops open.  He 
cannot move; he is transfixed.]  Oh, Peter, I was so afraid I’d drive you 
away.  [He laughs as best he can.]  You don’t know how afraid I was 
you’d go away and leave me.  And now I’ll tell you what happened at the 
zoo.  I think . . . I think this is what happened at the zoo.  I think.  I think 
that while I was at the zoo I decided that I would walk north . . . northerly, 
rather . . . until I found you . . . or somebody . . . and I decided that I would 
talk to you . . . I would tell you things . . . and things that I would tell you 
would . . . Well, here we are.  You see?  Here we are.  But . . . I don’t . . . 
could I have planned all this?  No . . . no, I couldn’t have.  But I think I 
did.  And now I’ve told you what you wanted to know, haven’t I?  And 
now you know all about what happened at the zoo.  And now you know 
what you’ll see in your TV, and the face I told you about . . . you 
remember . . . the face I told you about . . . my face, the face you see right 
now.  Peter . . . Peter? . . . Peter . . . thank you.  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 [most faintly, now; he is very near death]:  You won’t be coming back here any 
more, Peter; you’ve been dispossessed.  You’ve lost your bench, but 
you’ve defended your honor.  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 . . . 
see?  [JERRY takes a handkerchief and with great effort and pain wipes 
the knife handle clean of fingerprints.]  Hurry away, Peter.  [PETER 
begins to stagger awy.]  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.]  Very good, 
Peter . . . very good.  Now . . . hurry away.  [PETER hesitates for a 
moment, then flees, stage left.]  Hurry away . . . [His eyes are closed now.]  
Hurry away, your parakeets are making the dinner . . . the cats . . . are 
setting the table . . .
PETER [off stage, a pitiful howl]:  OH MY GOD!
JERRY [his eyes still closed, he shakes his head and speaks; a combination of scornful 
mimicry and supplication]:  Oh . . . my . . . God.
[He is dead.]