Chapter 4

Our good old nation was just seven years old as a republic when it became bigger by a small territory. Pondicherry entered the Union of India on November 1, 1954. One civic achievement called for another. A portion of the grounds of the Pondicherry Botanical Garden was made available rent-free for an exciting business opportunity and - lo and behold - India had a brand new zoo, designed and run according to the most modern, biologically sound principles.

It was a huge zoo, spread over numberless acres, big enough to require a train to explore it, though it seemed to get smaller as I grew older, train included. Now it's so small it fits in my head. You must imagine a hot and humid place, bathed in sunshine and bright colours. The riot of flowers is incessant. There are trees, shrubs and climbing plants in profusion - peepuls, gulmohurs, flames of the forest, red silk cottons, jacarandas, mangoes, jackfruits and many others that would remain unknown to you if they didn't have neat labels at their feet. There are benches. On these benches you see men sleeping, stretched out, or couples sitting, young couples, who steal glances at each other shyly and whose hands flutter in the air, happening to touch. Suddenly, amidst the tall and slim trees up ahead, you notice two giraffes quietly observing you. The sight is not the last of your surprises. The next moment you are startled by a furious outburst coming from a great troupe of monkeys, only outdone in volume by the shrill cries of strange birds. You come to a turnstile. You distractedly pay a small sum of money. You move on. You see a low wall. What can you expect beyond a low wall? Certainly not a shallow pit with two mighty Indian rhinoceros. But that is what you find. And when you turn your head you see the elephant that was there all along, so big you didn't notice it. And in the pond you realize those are hippopotamuses floating in the water. The more you look, the more you see. You are in Zootown!

Before moving to Pondicherry, Father ran a large hotel in Madras. An abiding interest in animals led him to the zoo business. A natural transition, you might think, from hotelkeeping to zookeeping. Not so. In many ways, running a zoo is a hotelkeeper's worst nightmare. Consider: the guests never leave their rooms; they expect not only lodging but full board; they receive a constant flow of visitors, some of whom are noisy and unruly. One has to wait until they saunter to their balconies, so to speak, before one can clean their rooms, and then one has to wait until they tire of the view and return to their rooms before one can clean their balconies; and there is much cleaning to do, for the guests are as unhygienic as alcoholics. Each guest is very particular about his or her diet, constantly complains about the slowness of the service, and never, ever tips. To speak frankly, many are sexual deviants, either terribly repressed and subject to explosions of frenzied lasciviousness or openly depraved, in either case regularly affronting management with gross outrages of free sex and incest. Are these the sorts of guests you would want to welcome to your inn? The Pondicherry Zoo was the source of some pleasure and many headaches for Mr. Santosh Patel, founder, owner, director, head of a staff of fifty-three, and my father.

To me, it was paradise on earth. I have nothing but the fondest memories of growing up in a zoo. I lived the life of a prince. What maharaja's son had such vast, luxuriant grounds to play about? What palace had such a menagerie? My alarm clock during my childhood was a pride of lions. They were no Swiss clocks, but the lions could be counted upon to roar their heads off between five-thirty and six every morning. Breakfast was punctuated by the shrieks and cries of howler monkeys, hill mynahs and Moluccan cockatoos. I left for school under the benevolent gaze not only of Mother but also of bright-eyed otters and burly American bison and stretching and yawning orang-utans. I looked up as I ran under some trees, otherwise peafowl might excrete on me. Better to go by the trees that sheltered the large colonies of fruit bats; the only assault there at that early hour was the bats' discordant concerts of squeaking and chattering. On my way out I might stop by the terraria to look at some shiny frogs glazed bright, bright green, or yellow and deep blue, or brown and pale green. Or it might be birds that caught my attention: pink flamingoes or black swans or one-wattled cassowaries, or something smaller, silver diamond doves, Cape glossy starlings, peach-faced lovebirds, Nanday conures, orange-fronted parakeets. Not likely that the elephants, the seals, the big cats or the bears would be up and doing, but the baboons, the macaques, the mangabeys, the gibbons, the deer, the tapirs, the llamas, the giraffes, the mongooses were early risers. Every morning before I was out the main gate I had one last impression that was both ordinary and unforgettable: a pyramid of turtles; the iridescent snout of a mandrill; the stately silence of a giraffe; the obese, yellow open mouth of a hippo; the beak-and-claw climbing of a macaw parrot up a wire fence; the greeting claps of a shoebill's bill; the senile, lecherous expression of a camel. And all these riches were had quickly, as I hurried to school. It was after school that I discovered in a leisurely way what it's like to have an elephant search your clothes in the friendly hope of finding a hidden nut, or an orang-utan pick through your hair for tick snacks, its wheeze of disappointment at what an empty pantry your head is. I wish I could convey the perfection of a seal slipping into water or a spider monkey swinging from point to point or a lion merely turning its head. But language founders in such seas. Better to picture it in your head if you want to feel it.

In zoos, as in nature, the best times to visit are sunrise and sunset. That is when most animals come to life. They stir and leave their shelter and tiptoe to the water's edge. They show their raiments. They sing their songs. They turn to each other and perform their rites. The reward for the watching eye and the listening ear is great. I spent more hours than I can count a quiet witness to the highly mannered, manifold expressions of life that grace our planet. It is something so bright, loud, weird and delicate as to stupefy the senses.

I have heard nearly as much nonsense about zoos as I have about God and religion. Well-meaning but misinformed people think animals in the wild are "happy" because they are "free." These people usually have a large, handsome predator in mind, a lion or a cheetah (the life of a gnu or of an aardvark is rarely exalted). They imagine this wild animal roaming about the savannah on digestive walks after eating a prey that accepted its lot piously, or going for callisthenic runs to stay slim after overindulging. They imagine this animal overseeing its offspring proudly and tenderly, the whole family watching the setting of the sun from the limbs of trees with sighs of pleasure. The life of the wild animal is simple, noble and meaningful, they imagine. Then it is captured by wicked men and thrown into tiny jails. Its "happiness" is dashed. It yearns mightily for "freedom" and does all it can to escape. Being denied its "freedom" for too long, the animal becomes a shadow of itself, its spirit broken. So some people imagine.

This is not the way it is.

Animals in the wild lead lives of compulsion and necessity within an unforgiving social hierarchy in an environment where the supply of fear is high and the supply of food low and where territory must constantly be defended and parasites forever endured. What is the meaning of freedom in such a context? Animals in the wild are, in practice, free neither in space nor in time, nor in their personal relations. In theory - that is, as a simple physical possibility - an animal could pick up and go, flaunting all the social conventions and boundaries proper to its species. But such an event is less likely to happen than for a member of our own species, say a shopkeeper with all the usual ties - to family, to friends, to society - to drop everything and walk away from his life with only the spare change in his pockets and the clothes on his frame. If a man, boldest and most intelligent of creatures, won't wander from place to place, a stranger to all, beholden to none, why would an animal, which is by temperament far more conservative? For that is what animals are, conservative, one might even say reactionary. The smallest changes can upset them. They want things to be just so, day after day, month after month. Surprises are highly disagreeable to them. You see this in their spatial relations. An animal inhabits its space, whether in a zoo or in the wild, in the same way chess pieces move about a chessboard - significantly. There is no more happenstance, no more "freedom," involved in the whereabouts of a lizard or a bear or a deer than in the location of a knight on a chessboard. Both speak of pattern and purpose. In the wild, animals stick to the same paths for the same pressing reasons, season after season. In a zoo, if an animal is not in its normal place in its regular posture at the usual hour, it means something. It may be the reflection of nothing more than a minor change in the environment. A coiled hose left out by a keeper has made a menacing impression. A puddle has formed that bothers the animal. A ladder is making a shadow. But it could mean something more. At its worst, it could be that most dreaded thing to a zoo director: a symptom, a herald of trouble to come, a reason to inspect the dung, to cross-examine the keeper, to summon the vet. All this because a stork is not standing where it usually stands!

But let me pursue for a moment only one aspect of the question.

If you went to a home, kicked down the front door, chased the people who lived there out into the street and said, "Go! You are free! Free as a bird! Go! Go!" - do you think they would shout and dance for joy? They wouldn't. Birds are not free. The people you've just evicted would sputter, "With what right do you throw us out? This is our home. We own it. We have lived here for years. We're calling the police, you scoundrel."

Don't we say, "There's no place like home?" That's certainly what animals feel. Animals are territorial. That is the key to their minds. Only a familiar territory will allow them to fulfill the two relentless imperatives of the wild: the avoidance of enemies and the getting of food and water. A biologically sound zoo enclosure - whether cage, pit, moated island, corral, terrarium, aviary or aquarium - is just another territory, peculiar only in its size and in its proximity to human territory. That it is so much smaller than what it would be in nature stands to reason. Territories in the wild are large not as a matter of taste but of necessity. In a zoo, we do for animals what we have done for ourselves with houses: we bring together in a small space what in the wild is spread out. Whereas before for us the cave was here, the river over there, the hunting grounds a mile that way, the lookout next to it, the berries somewhere else - all of them infested with lions, snakes, ants, leeches and poison ivy - now the river flows through taps at hand's reach and we can wash next to where we sleep, we can eat where we have cooked, and we can surround the whole with a protective wall and keep it clean and warm. A house is a compressed territory where our basic needs can be fulfilled close by and safely. A sound zoo enclosure is the equivalent for an animal (with the noteworthy absence of a fireplace or the like, present in every human habitation). Finding within it all the places it needs - a lookout, a place for resting, for eating and drinking, for bathing, for grooming, etc. - and finding that there is no need to go hunting, food appearing six days a week, an animal will take possession of its zoo space in the same way it would lay claim to a new space in the wild, exploring it and marking it out in the normal ways of its species, with sprays of urine perhaps. Once this moving-in ritual is done and the animal has settled, it will not feel like a nervous tenant, and even less like a prisoner, but rather like a landholder, and it will behave in the same way within its enclosure as it would in its territory in the wild, including defending it tooth and nail should it be invaded. Such an enclosure is subjectively neither better nor worse for an animal than its condition in the wild; so long as it fulfills the animal's needs, a territory, natural or constructed, simply is, without judgment, a given, like the spots on a leopard. One might even argue that if an animal could choose with intelligence, it would opt for living in a zoo, since the major difference between a zoo and the wild is the absence of parasites and enemies and the abundance of food in the first, and their respective abundance and scarcity in the second. Think about it yourself. Would you rather be put up at the Ritz with free room service and unlimited access to a doctor or be homeless without a soul to care for you? But animals are incapable of such discernment. Within the limits of their nature, they make do with what they have.

A good zoo is a place of carefully worked-out coincidence: exactly where an animal says to us, "Stay out!" with its urine or other secretion, we say to it, "Stay in!" with our barriers. Under such conditions of diplomatic peace, all animals are content and we can relax and have a look at each other.

In the literature can be found legions of examples of animals that could escape but did not, or did and returned. There is the case of the chimpanzee whose cage door was left unlocked and had swung open. Increasingly anxious, the chimp began to shriek and to slam the door shut repeatedly - with a deafening clang each time - until the keeper, notified by a visitor, hurried over to remedy the situation. A herd of roe-deer in a European zoo stepped out of their corral when the gate was left open. Frightened by visitors, the deer bolted for the nearby forest, which had its own herd of wild roe-deer and could support more. Nonetheless, the zoo roe-deer quickly returned to their corral. In another zoo a worker was walking to his work site at an early hour, carrying planks of wood, when, to his horror, a bear emerged from the morning mist, heading straight for him at a confident pace. The man dropped the planks and ran for his life. The zoo staff immediately started searching for the escaped bear. They found it back in its enclosure, having climbed down into its pit the way it had climbed out, by way of a tree that had fallen over. It was thought that the noise of the planks of wood falling to the ground had frightened it.

But I don't insist. I don't mean to defend zoos. Close them all down if you want (and let us hope that what wildlife remains can survive in what is left of the natural world). I know zoos are no longer in people's good graces. Religion faces the same problem. Certain illusions about freedom plague them both.

The Pondicherry Zoo doesn't exist any more. Its pits are filled in, the cages torn down. I explore it now in the only place left for it, my memory.

第四章

    我们古老美好的祖国刚刚度过共和国7岁生日就因为又增加了一小块疆域而变得更加辽阔了。本地治里于1  954年11月1日加入了印度联邦。一项城市建设成就带来了另一项成就。本地治里植物园的一块场地可以用来发展令人兴奋的商机，租金全免，于是——你瞧 ——印度有了崭新的动物园，完全按照最现代、最符合生物学原理的标准设计和管理。

    那是一座巨大的动物园，占地无数公顷，大到需要乘火车探索，尽管随着我年龄的增长，它渐渐变小了，火车也变小了。现在它已经太小了，只存在于我的脑海里。 你得想像一个炎热潮湿的地方，洒满了阳光，到处是鲜艳的色彩。五颜六色的鲜花争相开放，四季不断。那里有茂盛的乔木、灌木和攀缘植物——菩提树、火焰树、 凤凰木、红色丝光木棉、蓝花楹、芒果树、木波罗和很多其他植物，要不是这些植物脚下有简明的标签，你是不会认识它们的。园里有长凳。你能看见有人在长凳上 睡觉，舒展着身子，或者有对对情侣坐在长凳上，年轻的情侣，害羞地偷偷瞟对有一眼，手在空中挥动着，碰巧碰到了对方的手。突然，你看到在前面几株又高又细 的树之间有两头长颈鹿正静静地观察你。这可不是最后一幅让你惊讶的景象。紧接着你被一大群猴子突然发出的愤怒叫声吓了一跳，而这声音又被陌生鸟类的尖声呜 叫压了下去。你来到一道旋转栅栏门前。你心不在焉地付了一小笔钱。你继续往前走。你看到一堵矮墙。你能指望在矮墙后面看到什么呢？肯定不是里面有两头庞大 的印度犀牛的浅坑。但你发现的就是这个。当你转过头去时，你看见了一直在那儿的大象，它太大了，刚才你都没注意到它。你意识到浮在池水里的是河马。你看得 越多，看到的便越多。你现在是在动物园城里！

    在搬到本地治里之前，父亲在马德拉斯经营一家旅馆。对动物的持久兴趣使他转向了经营动物园这一行。也许你认为从经营旅馆到经营动物园是一个自然的转变。并 非如此。在很多方面，经营动物园都是旅馆经营者的最糟糕的噩梦。想想吧：客人从不离开自己的房间；它们不仅需要住处，而且需要全食宿；它们不停地接待客 人，其中有些客人吵吵嚷嚷，不守规矩。你得等到它们到所谓的阳台上散步时才能打扫房间，然后得等到它们对外面的景色感到厌烦了，回到房间时，才能打扫阳 台；有很多清扫工作要做，因为这些客人就像醉鬼一样不讲卫生。每一位客人都对自己的饮食十分挑剔，不停地抱怨菜上得太慢，而且从来、从来不给小费。坦白地 说，有很多客人性行为异常，不是可怕地压抑，易于爆发疯狂的淫乱，就是公开地堕落，无论是哪一种情况，它们都经常以极端肆元忌惮的自由性行为和乱伦行为冒 犯管理者。你会欢迎这样的客人到你的酒店去吗？本地治里动物园给桑托什·帕特尔先生——动物园创建人、拥有者、园长、53名员工的头和我的父亲——带来了 些许快乐和许多令人头疼的麻烦。

    对我来说，那里是人间天堂。在动物园长大的经历给我留下了最美好的回忆。我生活得像一位王子。哪一位土邦主的儿子有如此广阔的郁郁葱葱的场地可以玩耍？哪 一座宫殿有如此多的野生动物？我童年时代的闹钟是一群狮子。它们不是瑞士钟，但是每天早晨五点半到六点之间它们一定会大声吼叫。早餐被吼猴、鹩哥和摩鹿加 群岛凤头鹦鹉的尖声呜叫和大声叫喊打断。我离家去上学时，和蔼地注视着我的不仅有母亲，还有眼睛亮晶晶的水獭，高大结实的美洲野牛和伸着懒腰、打着哈欠的 猩猩。我从几棵树下跑过时抬起头来，否则孔雀就可能排泄在我身上。最好从栖息着大群狐蝠的树下走过；一大清早，那里惟一的攻击就是蝙蝠刺耳的吱吱吱唧唧唧 的叫声。在出去的路上，我也许会在陆栖小动物饲养箱旁边停下来，看看那些有着明亮光泽的青蛙，闪着非常、非常鲜艳的绿色，或是黄色和深蓝色，或是棕色和淡 绿色。或者，也许吸引了我的注意力的是鸟儿：粉红色鹳鸟或是黑天鹅或是有一只肉垂的食火鸡，或是小一些的鸟，银色钻石鸠，好望角彩椋，桃红色脸的情侣鹦 鹉，黑冠锥尾鹦鹉，橘黄色胸脯的长尾小鹦鹉。大象、海豹、大型猫科动物或熊不大可能已经起来活动了，但是狒狒、弥猴、白眉猴、长臂猿、鹿、貘、美洲驼、长 颈鹿和猿都起得早。每天早晨，在走出大门之前，我都会有一个既平常又难忘的印象：海龟堆得像一座金字塔；山魈口鼻的颜色仿佛一道彩虹；长颈鹿威严地沉默 着；河马张开肥肥的黄色的嘴；金刚鹦鹉嘴脚并用地在爬金属丝围栏；鲸头鹳拍打着长嘴，仿佛在向人问好；骆驼脸上一副老态龙钟的好色的表情。所有这些财富都 是我在匆匆忙忙去学校的时候迅速拥有的。放学后我才从容地发现，大象搜你的衣服，友好地希望找到里面藏着的坚果，或者猩猩在你的头发里翻找虱蝇做零食，发 现你的脑袋是个空空如也的食品室时失望地呼哧呼哧直喘气，这是一种什么样的感觉。我真希望自己能够传达海豹滑进水里或蛛猴从一个地方荡到另一个地方或狮子 仅仅转过头那一瞬间的动作的完美。但是语言在这里无能为力。如果你想感受这一切，最好在心里想像。

    在动物园里和在大自然中一样，观赏动物的最佳时机是日出和日落的时候。那时大多数动物都活跃起来。它们起身离开栖息处，悄悄来到水边。它们展示自己的服 饰。它们放声歌唱。它们互相面对，举行仪式。善于观察的眼睛和善于倾听的耳朵得到的回报是巨大的。我数不清自己花了多少个小时，静静地观看这些给我们的行 星增光的非常别具一格的多种多样的生命形式。这一切是如此地鲜艳、响亮、神秘又优美，让人丧失了所有的知觉。

    我所听到的关于动物园的荒唐说法与关于上帝和宗教的荒唐说法一样多。好心但有误解的人们以为生活在野生环境的动物是“快乐的”，因为它们是“自由的”。这些人通常想到的是大型的漂亮的食肉动物，例如狮子或猎豹（很少有人会抬举牛羚或土豚的生活）。

    他们想像这只野生动物在吃了虔诚地接受自己命运的猎物之后，在热带稀树草原上闲逛，散步消食，或者在吃得过多之后去跑步健美，以保持苗条身材。他们 想像这只动物骄傲地湿柔地照顾自己的后代，全家在树枝上观赏日落，发出快乐的叹息。他们想像野生动物的生活简单、高贵、充满意义。后来它被邪恶的人捉住 了，扔进了狭小的监牢。它的“快乐”被击得粉碎。它深深地渴望“自由”，用尽一切方法逃跑。由于被剥夺“间太久了，这只动物成了自己的影子，它的精神垮 了。有些人就是这么想像的。

    事情并不是这样。

    野生环境中的动物生活在一个有很多恐惧却只有很少食物，需要不断保卫地盘，只能永远忍受寄生虫的环境中。在一个无情的等级严格的群体中，它们所做的一切完 全是出于必要，被迫如此。在这样的情况下，自由的意义何在？实际上，野生环境中的动物无论在空间上、时间上，还是在个体关系上都不自由。在理论上——也就 是说，作为一种简单的实际可能性——动物可以收拾东西离开，藐视它这个物种认为合适的一切群体准则和界限。但是这样的事情比在我们人类成员身上更不可能发 生，比如一个有着所有常见的联系——与家庭、朋友、社会的联系——的店主，他不可能丢下一切，只带着口袋里的零钱和身上的衣服就从自己的生活里走开。如果 一个人，最大胆、最聪明的生物，不可能从一个地方游荡到另一个地方，所有人都不认识他，他也不依赖于任何人，那么为什么性情保守得多的动物会这么做呢？动 物就是如此，保守，甚至可以说极端保守。最微小的变化也会让它们心烦意乱。它们希望一天又一天，一月又一月，事物丝毫不变。意外的事物令它们十分不快。你 在它们的空间关系上能看到这一点。无论是在动物园里还是在野生环境中，动物在它的空间里的居住方式和棋子在棋盘上移动的方式一祥——意味深长。一条蜥蜴或 一头熊或一只鹿所在的位置不比棋盘上的马所在的位置有更多的巧合，或更多的“自由”。两者的位置都说明了方式和目的。在野生环境中，一季又一季，动物因为 同样迫切的原因，每次都走同样的小路。在动物园里，如果一只动物没有在惯常的时间以固定的姿势出现在平常的地点，那么这就说明有问题了。也许这只是对环境 中一个微小变化的反应。饲养员留在外面的卷起来的水管让它感到了威胁。一个水坑刚刚形成，让它感到紧张。一架梯子投下了阴影。但是这也可能说明更多的问 题。最糟糕的是，这可能是动物园园长最担忧的：这是一个症状，是麻烦即将来临的预告，是检查粪便、盘问饲养员、召来兽医的原因。所有这一切都是因为一只鹤 没有站在它平常站的地方！

    但是让我花一点儿时间只对这个问题的一个方面继续进行阐述吧。

    如果你到一户人家去，把前门踢开，把住在里面的人赶到大街上去，说：“去吧！你们自由了！像小鸟一样自由！去吧！去吧！”你以为他们会高兴得又叫又跳吗？ 他们不会。小鸟并不自由。你刚刚赶走的人会气急败坏地说：“你有什么权力把我们扔出去？这是我们的家。我们是这里的主人。我们在这儿住了很多年了。我们这 就叫警察，你这个流氓。"

    我们不是说“金窝银窝，不如自己的穷窝”吗？动物肯定就是这么感觉的。动物的地盘意识很强。这是它们大脑的关键所在。只有熟悉的地盘才能让它们完成野生环 境中两件需要不断去做的极其重要的事情：躲避敌人以及获取食物和水。符合生物学原理的动物园里的场地——无论是笼子、兽栏、四周有深沟的小岛、围栏、陆栖 小动物饲养箱、大型鸟舍还是水族馆——只是另一个地盘，只不过大小和与人类地盘的靠近程度有些特别。这个地盘比大自然中的地盘小得多．这是合情合理的。野 生环境中的地盘很大，这不是出于喜好，

    而是出于必要。在动物园里，我们为动物所做的就是我们在家里为自己所做的一切：我们把在野生环境中分散在各处的东西集中到一个小地方来。以前洞穴在 这里，小河在那边，狩猎场在一英里以外，嘹望台在狩猎场旁边，在别的地方——所有这些都要受到狮子、蛇、蚂蚁、水蛭和毒藤蔓的侵扰——而现在河水从近在手 边的龙头里流出来，我们可以在睡觉的地方的旁边洗澡，我们可以在烧饭的地方吃饭，我们可以把所有这些起保护作用的墙围起来，让里面保持干净和温暖。一座房 子就是一个缩小了的地盘，在那里，我们的基本需要可以在附近安全地得到满足。一座合理的动物园就相当于动物的房子（值得注意的是这里没有每一处人类住所都 有的火炉或类似的东西）。动物发现这里有它需要的所有地方——陈望台，休息弋迸食、饮水、洗澡、梳毛的地方，等等——而且发现不必去捕猎，一星期六天都会 有食物出现，它便会像在野生环境中将一个新地方据为己有一样占据它在动物园里的地方，仔细察看这个地方，用它这个物种常用的方式，也许是撒尿，把这个地方 划归已有。一旦完成了这个乔迁仪式，安顿了下来，动物便不会感觉自己像紧张的房客，更不会感觉自己像囚徒，而会感到自己是土地拥有者，它会像在野生环境中 的地盘上一样在它自己的场地上活动，包括在地盘受到侵犯时竭尽全力地保卫它。从主观上看，对于一只动物来说，这样的场地不比野生环境中的条件好，也不比野 生环境中的条件差；只要能满足动物的需要，无论是自然的还是人造的地盘都仅仅是一个客观情况，一个已知事实，就像豹子身上的斑点。你甚至可似说，如果动物 能凭智慧作出判断，它一定会选择住在动物园里，因为动物园和野生环境的主要区另吐在于，前者没有寄生虫和敌人，有充足的食物，而后者却有很多寄生虫和敌 人，还缺少食物。你自己想想吧。你是愿意住在豪华旅馆里，享受免费客房服务，可以随便看医生，还是愿意无家可归，没有一个照顾你的人？但是动物没有这样的 识别能力。它们在自己本性的范围内，靠自己有的东西凑和着过。

    一座好动物园是一个充满了细心设计的巧合的地方：就在动物用尿或其他分泌物对我们说“别进来”的地方，我们用障碍物对它说：“别出来！”在这样的和平外交条件下，所有动物都很满意，我们也可以放松自己，互相看看了。

    文献里可以找到很多动物能逃跑但没有逃，或者逃跑了又回来的例子。有这样一个例子，一只黑猩猩的笼门没有上锁，门开了。黑猩猩越来越焦虑，它开始尖声叫 喊，一次又一次猛地把门关上。每次都发出震耳欲聋的当当声。最后饲养员被一位游客提醒，急忙去采取了补救措施。一座欧洲动物园里的一群狍在大门开着的时候 走出了围栏。因为受了游客的惊吓，它们逃进了附近的森林。那里有一群野生狍，还可以养活更多的狍。尽管如此，动物园里的狍还是很快回到了围栏里。在另一座 动物园里，一个工人大清早扛着木板正朝工作地点走去，他惊恐地发现清晨的薄雾中出现了一头熊，正迈着自信的步子径直朝他走来。那个人丢下木板逃命去了。动 物园的工作人员立即开始寻找逃跑的熊。他们发现它回到了围栏里，它是像爬出去时那样从一棵倒下的树上爬进去的。有人认为是木板掉在地上的声音让它受了惊 吓。

    但是我不想坚持。我并不是要为动物园辩护。要是你愿意，你可以把所有动物园都关闭（让我们希望仅剩的野生动物能在仅剩的自然环境中生存下去吧）。我知道动物园已经不被人们喜欢。宗教面临着同样的问题。关于自由的某些错误观念使两者都遭了殃。

    本地治里动物园已经不再存在。’它的兽栏已经被填平，笼子已经被拆掉。我现在要去四处走走看看，只能在它存在的惟一地方，在我的记忆里。