PETER & JERRY COOKIE CRUMBLE

JERRY: [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
tonight. You have TV, haven't you?
PETER: Why yes, we have two; one for the children.
JERRY: You're married!
PETER: [with pleased emphasis] Why, certainly.
JERRY: It isn't a law, for God's sake.
PETER: No ... no, of course not.
JERRY: And you have a wife.
PETER: [bewildered by the seeming lack of communication] Yes!

JERRY: And you have children.

PETER: Yes; two.

JERRY: Boys?
PETER: No, girls ... both girls.
JERRY: But you wanted boys.
PETER: Well ... naturally, every man wants a son, but ...
JERRY: [lightly mocking] But that's the way the cookie crumbles?

PETER: [annoyed] I wasn't going to say that.

JERRY: And you're not going to have any more kids, are you?

PETER: [a bit distantly] No. No more. [Then back, and irksome] Why did you say that?
How would you know about that?
JERRY: The way you cross your legs, perhaps; something in the voice. Or maybe I'm just
guessing. Is it your wife?
PETER: [furious] That's none of your business! [A silence.] Do you understand? [JERRY
nods. PETER is quiet now.] Well, you're right. We'll have no more children.
JERRY: [softly] That is the way the cookie crumbles.
PETER: [forgiving] Yes ... I guess so.
JERRY & PETER CATS & THE PARAKEETS

JERRY: I'll tell you why I do it; I don't talk to many people except to say like: give me a
beer, or where's the john, or what time does the feature go on, or keep your hands to
yourself, buddy. You know things like that.
PETER: I must say I don’t ...
JERRY: But every once in a while I like to talk to somebody, really talk; like to get to
know somebody, know all about him.
PETER: [lightly laughing, still a little uncomfortable] And am I the guinea pig for today?

JERRY: On a sun-drenched Sunday afternoon like this? Who better than a nice married
man with two daughters and ... uh ... a dog? [PETER shakes his head.] No? Two dogs.
[PETER shakes his head again. Hm. No dogs? [PETER shakes his head, sadly.] Oh, that's
a shame. But you look like an animal man. CATS? [PETER nods his head, ruefully.] Cats
! But, that can't be youridea. No, sir. Your wife and daughters? [PETER nods his head.]Is
there anything else I should know?
PETER: [he has clear his throat] There are ... there are two parakeets. One ... uh ... one
for each of my daughters.
JERRY: Birds.
PETER: My daughters keep them in a cage in their bedroom.
JERRY: Do they carry disease? The birds.
PETER: I don't believe so.
JERRY: That's too bad. If they did you could set them loose in the house and the cats
could eat them and die, maybe. [PETER look blank for a moment, then laughs.] And
what else ? What do you do to support your enormous household?
PETER: I ... uh ... I have an executive position with a ... a small publishing house. We ...
uh ... we publish text books.

JERRY: That sounds nice; very nice. What do you make?

PETER: [still cheerful] Now look here!
JERRY: Oh, come on.
PETER: Well, I make around two hundred thousand a year, but: don't carry more than
forty dollars at any one time ... in case you're a ... a holdup man ... ha, ha, ha.
JERRY: [ignoring the above] Where do you live? [PETER is reluctant.] Oh, look; I'm not
going to rob you, and I'm not going to kidnap your parakeets, your cats, or your
daughters.
PETER: [too loud] I live between Lexington and Third Avenue, on Seventy-fourth Street.
JERRY: That wasn't so hard, was it?
PETER: I didn't mean to seem ... ah ... it's that you don't really carry on a conversation;
you just ask questions. And I'm ... I'm normally ... uh ... reticent. Why do you just stand
there?
JERRY: I'll start walking around in a little while, and eventually I'll sit down.
[Recalling.] Wait until you see the expression on his face.
PETER: What? Whose face? Look here; is this Something about the zoo?
JERRY: [distantly] The what?
PETER: The zoo; the zoo. Something about the zoo.
JERRY: The zoo?
PETER: You've mentioned it several times.
JERRY [still distant, but returning abruptly]: The zoo? Oh, yes; the zoo. I was there
before I came here. I told you that. Say, what's the dividing line between upper-middle-
middle-class and lower-upper-middle-class?
PETER: My dear fellow, I ...
JERRY: Don't my dear fellow me.
PETER: [unhappily] Was I patronizing? I believe I was; I'm sorry. But, you see, your
question about the classes bewildered me.
JERRY: And when you're bewildered you become patronizing? PETER: I ... I don't
express myself too well, sometimes. [He attempts a joke on himself.] I'm in publishing,
not writing.
JERRY: [amused, but not at the humour] So be it. The truth is: I was being patronizing.
PETER: Oh, now; you needn't say that.
JERRY & THE DOG
JERRY: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 necessaryto go a long distance out of the way in order to come back a
short distance correctly; or, maybe I only think that it has something to 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 grey-yellow-white colour, 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 slightly] ... 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 can 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 to do only with me. Cosy. 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.

JERRY LOCKBOX W/O A LOCK

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
concentrate at looking 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.] ... it's just that if you can't deal with people, you have to make a start somewhere.
WITH ANIMALS ! [Much faster now, and like a conspirator] Don't you see.? A person
has to have some way of dealing with SOMETHING. If not with people ...
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, and too many lights, all colours reflecting
on the oily-wet streets ... with a wisp of smoke, a wisp ... of smoke ... with ... with
pornographic playing cards, with a strong-box . . . 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. How about that? WITH GOD WHO IS A
COLOURED 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 ... some day, 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, simple-minded 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.

JERRY & PETER MOVE OVER

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. Tt 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 lion's 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 ... what ever 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.