All language subtitles for Nymphomaniac.Vol.1.2013.LIMITED.DVDRip.x264-GECKOS

♪ Nymphomania... ♪

♪ Nymphomania... ♪

Hello?

You've had an accident.

You need an ambulance. I'll call
for one. I'll be right back.

Lie still here.

No.

No.

No what?

I don't need an ambulance.

I can clearly see you do.
I'll call for one.

In that case, I'll be up and gone

before you have the
time to come back.

That will hurt.

That's possible, but it
doesn't matter to me.

I assume you don't want me
to call the police either.

Yes, that's exactly right.

Is there anything you want?

I'd like a cup of
tea with some milk.

Well...

You have to come with me.

I don't serve tea in the street.

Can you walk?

Yeah.

I've even bought a cake.

I'll wash your clothes.

- Not my coat.
- It smells rather badly.

It's my coat.

It's your coat.

So what happened?

Were you robbed?

It's my own fault.

I'm just a bad human being.

I've never met a bad human being.

Well, you have now.

Do you want to talk about it?

You wouldn't understand.

Well, try me.

But I wouldn't know where to start.

Why is that ridiculous
fishhook hanging there?

It's a fly.

I caught a fish with it once,

a rather big one

strangely enough.

Fly-fishing is about

tying feathers and
other things to a hook

so it resembles something
the fish likes to eat.

And then because the
fly is very light,

you have to have a
line that is heavy.

It creates the velocity
when you cast.

You fish a lot?

Well, some...

But I don't catch much.

When I was young, I...

I had a book I... I worshipped.

It was an old book by Izaak Walton

called "the complete angler."

It was like a romantic
nature Bible to me.

Maybe I know where to start.

But if you're to
understand, I'll...

I'll have to tell you
the whole story,

and it'll be long.

Long... is good.

And moral, I'm afraid.

To begin with the bait,

I discovered my cunt
as a two-year-old.

At an early age,

I was mechanically inclined.

Kinetic energy, for example,

has always fascinated me.

And my friend...
let's call her B...

Always came up with the ideas.

Playing frogs was one
of B's classics.

Joe, are you all right?

Just a moment!

Are you done?

For Christ's sakes,
leave them alone.

I loved my father very much.

He was a doctor.

My mother's name was Katherine.

My father called her Kay.

I suppose she was what you'd call

a cold bitch.

She always had her back turned

when she played solitaire.

I hated solitaire.

When we had P.E.,

I'd climb up into the ropes

and hang there for ages

with the rope between my legs.

"The sensation" we called it.

I remember very distinctly
this word, "sensation."

Perhaps the only difference
between me and other people

was that I've always demanded
more from the sunset.

More spectacular colors when
the sun hit the horizon.

That's perhaps my only sin.

Why are you insisting
that children are sinful?

Not children. Me.

I don't see sin anywhere,

but then I'm not religious.

That's because you don't
know the rest of the story.

And by the way, I'm
not religious either.

Why would you take the
most unsympathetic aspect

of religion such as
the concept of sin...

And let it survive beyond religion?

I don't understand
this self-hatred.

That's what I said...

- You wouldn't understand.
- No, I'm...

I'm sorry, I'll shut up.

Please continue.

Nervus pudendus.

Nervus dorsalis clitoridis.

My dad loved telling me about
the trees and their leaves

and considered it part
of a good education.

When the ash tree was created,

it made all the other trees
in the forest jealous.

It was the most beautiful tree.

You couldn't say
anything bad about it.

Then in the winter...

When the ash tree lost
all of its leaves...

All the trees noticed its black
buds and started laughing.

"Oh, look...

The ash tree's had its
fingers in the ashes."

See?

You can always tell the
ash tree in winter

by the black buds.

He especially loved

the childish educational
stories he told

to help me remember
what I had learned.

I knew how much he loved
telling those stories,

so sometimes I pretended
I had forgotten them.

Am I boring you?

No, I'm just looking forward

to how you will get fishing
weaved into your tale.

You could start with the
fly on the wall there.

It's called a nymph.

It would tie in elegantly with
your discussion about nymphomania.

A nymph is...

An early stage in the
life of an insect.

As a quite young nymph,

it was imperative for me to
get rid of my virginity.

Hopla.

I kind of knew this boy J,

who had a moped.

So in my eyes, he was
rather sophisticated.

I was 15,

and perhaps my girlish romantic
expectations were a bit high.

But he had good strong hands.

I liked his hands.

Hello?

- Hi.
- Hi.

If I asked you to
take my virginity,

would that be a problem?

No, I don't see a problem.

So, um...

Where shall I go?

It's the fucking carburetor.

I just can't work it out.

Can you imagine that?

That's not very good.

- Hmm?
- That's not very good.

No, it bloody isn't. It ruins the
whole idea of having a moped.

You should probably take
off your knickers, yeah?

He shoved his cock inside me
and humped me three times.

Then he turned me over
like a sack of potatoes...

Then he humped me five
times in the ass.

I never forgot those two
humiliating numbers.

Three and five?

Those are fibonacci numbers.

That may be.

In any case, it hurt like hell.

I swore I'd never sleep
with anyone again.

But of course, that only
lasted a short while.

And now to get back
to your fishing...

A couple of years later
I was at my friend B's.

And as always,
she had a new idea...

Financed by her younger
brother's piggy banks,

which she regularly emptied.

We put on clothes later known

as the fuck-me-now clothes.

The idea was a competition.

We were to go on a train trip.

B said there was no
need for tickets.

The one who had fucked the most men

when we reached the destination

would win the chocolate sweets.

♪ Get your motor running ♪

♪ Head out on the highway ♪

♪ Looking for adventure ♪

♪ And whatever comes our way ♪

♪ Yeah, darling,
go on, make it... ♪

May I interrupt here?

What you were doing

when you walked down
that corridor...

You were reading the river.

♪ Born to be wild... ♪

Most of the large
fish stay sheltered

from the current to save energy

and to hide from the prey.

Where the fish hides in the stream

entails a very
complicated hierarchy.

The topography decides

where the most
attractive places are,

and the biggest fish
choose the best positions.

Smile and make eye contact.

If you have to talk, remember
to ask a lot of wh-questions

if you want more than
a yes-or-no answer.

Then it'll just happen on its own.

You just take them to the lavatory
and you have sex with them.

Oh. But what if it's nasty?

Then you just think of the
bag of chocolate sweeties.

What... what time is it?

10:00

where do you come from?

From home.

Who knows where the lavatory is?

Well, if you take a right,

you will arrive at a lavatory
at the end of the car.

At the same time, it is
so cleverly arranged

that if you take a left turn,

you will also arrive at a lavatory,

since at the end of the
next car there is also one.

I'll show you where
the lavatory is.

It turned out to be
shockingly easy.

In no time, B was
ahead, five to three.

And it was exactly right...

Look them in the eye and smile.

But then suddenly it stopped.

That's a very clear parallel
to fishing in the stream.

As it happens,

either none of the fish are feeding

or they all feed at the same time.

They go into feeding frenzy.

All bite.

And then just as suddenly
as it started, it stops.

The fish most readily bite at
the beginning of a light rain,

and I think that's
because they feel safe

when they swim in the stream.

Because they can't
be seen from above.

The water's surface is disturbed.

But then it started again,

although a bit more slowly.

Yeah, and I think I know how.

Because fly-fishing can
be done in several phases.

And if the fish stop biting,
you move on to phase two.

And in phase two, you not
only imitate an insect

but an insect in trouble.

You pull... You pull the line.

You tug it... Irregularly,

so the fish gets the
impression that

it's dealing with an
injured and easy prey.

And then helplessly

let the fly float
down the river again.

Then half-heartedly

make a few jumps forward again.

It can be done...

It can be done very elegantly.

Are you all right?

It's Betty.

I was just told that
she's very ill.

Is Betty a close family member?

You could say that.

She's my dwarf hamster.

Dwarf hamster?

You can't be serious.

Well, what was I to do?

And then I did have a dwarf
hamster when I was young.

That you were very close to?

- Not at all.
- A bloody nuisance.

Dwarf hamster.

It would've been worse
if it were a person.

Don't say that.

I'm extremely fond of my hamster.

Yes, I think that's a rather
cynical thing to say about Betty.

Yes, I had made the cage nice
and cozy for her when...

- When I got her.
- And Betty liked that?

Betty was excited.

One of nature's most
meaningless creatures.

You're aware that the
choice of a dwarf hamster

possibly suggests certain
sexual connotations.

I can see that now,

but it was really not
a conscious choice.

Can you show me where
the lavatory is?

I... have to blow my nose.

We were running out of subjects,

and B was ahead on points,

which led us to S's
first-class compartment.

Tickets, please!

Thank you.

Ladies?

Tickets?

Well...

I think I might've lost it.

Perhaps.

Dropped yours as well, did ya?

I haven't bought a ticket
for your shitty train.

It's so bloody slow,

we should've been at the end
of the track half an hour ago.

Regardless of delays, you still
need a ticket, sweetheart.

£8 each, please.

Oh!

I accidentally tore it up.

You can't expect be to
pay for scraps of paper.

- Have another one.
- Oh, great idea.

Oh, that one's disappeared too.

I can always just get the police

to collect your payment
at the next station.

- How about that?
- Now let's just take it easy here, shall we?

Apparently the young ladies
have left without any money.

If it's okay with you, I'd
like to pay for their tickets.

No sir, it's not. Just leave
your money where it is.

- We'll let the police deal with these two.
- Actually,

we did have sort of an
agreement that I was to pay.

I just forgot about it.

I see.

Two first-class tickets...

For two first-class ladies.

Enjoy the rest of your journey.

Tickets, please!

Now that you've been
so nice to us...

We'd like to be nice to you too.

Oh, that's very kind of you,

but there's no need.

I mean that.

Well, I've already lost anyway.

I'm willing to give you
five extra points...

If you can get that one in there.

I decided, perhaps
a bit desperately,

that the only thing
standing between me

and the bag of chocolate sweets

was an unequivocal
provocation of this man.

Excellent. An induced take.

When all other attempts fail,

a dramatic provocation can get

an otherwise completely
passive fish to bite.

They will react instinctively
to the right provocation,

which would not be a
fly, but, for instance,

a brightly-colored
wobbler, preferably red.

The very best is one we
call "the finnish weapon,"

the so-called rapala.

You've bought a gift.

Yes.

- It's for my wife.
- Oh.

You travel first-class

and you bought us our tickets.

Why then not buy a decent
gift for your wife?

I can see it comes
from the station.

Of course, I should have...

Bought her something...

Something better, but...

Let's just say I was suddenly
in a hurry to get home.

Why would a man like you

with such an orderly life
suddenly have to hurry?

It has to do with family.

My wife and I have
decided that we...

We miss having children after all,

and that if we are to have
children, it has to be now.

So my wife called yesterday
to say that she...

She started ovulating.

And all signs point
to maximum fertility

precisely tonight.

You see...

That's why I bought her
a gift at the station.

I had to get a ticket home
as quickly as possible.

Well, I understand now.

What is it you understand?

Why you didn't have sex with us.

It wasn't because I didn't want to.

Please.

I'm begging you, please don't.

It's okay.

Please don't.

You've been as horny as hell...

But you wouldn't give up your load.

Please stop.

Oh God.

Oh God.

Wow.

So oral sex

became, in the eye of the angler,

your... your finnish weapon.

Is that your only comment?

What else... what else
do you want me to say?

That I behaved reprehensively,

that already my actions
exemplify that I'm a...

I'm a terrible human being.

That's not the way I see it.

On the contrary, I saw it as a...

As a very pleasurable
and humorous story.

I've consciously used
and hurt others...

For the sake of my
own satisfaction.

And what I've told you so far
only begins to suggest that.

But when you told the
story, you were...

You were cheerful, full of humor.

The only thing you've done...

Except giving a few people
an experience to remember

is that you... you
relieved S from his load

in some... some youthful hubris.

And I read somewhere that if
you keep the load too long,

the sperm will die.

Or worse, degenerate.

Maybe thanks to you,

Mr. S and his wife
now have a healthy

and well-functioning child.

I discovered my power as woman

and used it without any
concern for others.

That's completely unacceptable.

Oh, little darling.

Don't you "little darling" me.

No.

What I wanted to say was that

if you have wings, why not fly?

No more stories.

You need to sleep.

No no.

This is beginning to amuse me.

I don't even know your name.

My name is Joe.

I'm Seligman.

What a fucking ridiculous name.

It's Jewish.

You said you weren't religious.

No, but my great-grandfather was.

And my parents gave me the name

as a sort of...

Sentimental association to Judaism.

But we've always been
anti-zionists...

Which is not the same
as being anti-semitic,

as certain political
powers try to convince us.

Seligman...

Means "the happy one."

So are you happy then?

Well, I suppose I am...

In my own way.

Even if I'm the kind of person

who cut the nails of
the right hand first.

What does that mean?

Well, I divide humanity
into two groups:

The people who cut the nails
on the left hand first

and the people who cut the nails

of the right hand first.
My theory is

that the people who cut the
nails of the left hand first,

they... they... they're
more light-hearted.

They have a tendency
to enjoy life more

because they go straight for
the easiest task and...

Save their difficulties for later.

So what do you do?

Always the left hand first.

I don't think there's a choice.

Go for the pleasure first, always.

And then once you've
done the left hand,

only the right hand remains,

and that's the easiest one left.

I've never thought of it like that.

Well, you... you're
never too old...

Never too old to learn.

That's Rugelach.

Mm-hmm. It's a Jewish cake.

There's that sentimentality again.

No, but it's more than Rugelach.

It's Rugelach served
with a cake fork.

Rugelach, in my opinion, is pastry,

which there is no excuse for
eating with a cake fork.

To serve it with a cake fork
is irritatingly unmanly,

not to say downright feminine.

However it can bring us
further with the story.

I also knew someone who
consumed Rugelach every day,

almost ritually, with a cake fork.

And although we'll be
jumping a bit in time...

I have to tell you about Jerome.

As far as I can see, the
next chapter doesn't contain

as direct an accusation
against my person

as the rest of the story.

The chapter will also make a
sentimental soul like you happy,

as it contains observations
on the subject of love.

Can I tell you something?

Sure.

Sure.

Yeah.

Yeah sure.

It might not be important to you...

But it is to me.

But it is to me.

I've never had an orgasm before.

Really?

You're my first one.

You don't know how
happy that makes me.

I love you.

You're my first.

Well, I have to admit:

Quite a lot of girls say that.

The train trip had
increased my appetite,

and soon B and I started a club

that we called the little flock.

Mea vulva, mea maxima vulva.

B, of course, took the lead,

as she was the most daring of us.

She was raised catholic.

I'm sure you're familiar
with the practices

of the catholic church.

Mea maxima vulva.

Mea vulva, mea...

That's interesting.

Blasphemic, satanic.

The music...

The interval between B and F...

It's a tritone,

the devil's interval.

It was banned from music
in the middle ages.

Well, the vacuum
cleaner invented it.

She took piano lessons.

The vacuum cleaner?

The vacuum cleaner possessed

a special talent for floppy cocks.

She had some kind of
vacuum in her cunt.

I... I was imagining
something like that.

It was about fucking

and about having the
right to be horny.

We masturbated together,
that kind of thing.

But it was rebellious.

We weren't allowed
to have boyfriends.

No fucking the same
guy more than once.

What did you rebel against?

Love.

Love?

We were committed to combat

the love-fixated society.

I really believed in
our little flock,

but of course, that
was naive of me.

Over time, even the strongest

couldn't stay true to our manifest.

Third of the fifth.

My third intercourse this week,

- again with Alex.
- Third.

Haven't we stated that
we fuck each guy once?

I don't think you can
understand Alex.

I don't want to.

- Our relationship...
- Relationship?

There you are.

Do you think you know
everything about sex?

The secret ingredient
to sex... is love.

For me, love was just
lust with jealousy added.

Everything else was total nonsense.

For every hundred crimes
committed in the name of love,

only one is committed
in the name of sex.

That's quite a statement.

Well, it all strengthened my wish

for a serious education.

Glasgow.

Aberdeen.

Why are you smiling?

Oh, I just pictured
how an education

would be conveyed in
your storytelling.

Well, that's nothing
to smile about.

I understand that.

So what kind of
education did you get?

I began studying
medicine like my father.

But it was harder and harder
for me to concentrate,

so I studied less and less
till finally I dropped out.

So instead I began
to look for a job.

It turned out it was
hard to get a job

that paid even halfway decently.

I didn't really know
how to do anything,

so I didn't have high hopes

when I applied for a position

as an assistant at
a printing house.

So could you tell me
a little bit more

about your background?

- Um...
- Education-wise.

Oh. Well, I finished high school

and decided to study medicine...

But I didn't finish.

I know it sounds a bit
pointless coming here.

- Right.
- I just really need a job

and I've tried everywhere.

I don't usually give jobs to people

just because they need one.

What about secretarial skills?

- Do you have any of those?
- No, I didn't think you needed skills.

You didn't think you needed skills

for this position as a secretary?

No.

Can you open an envelope?

Yeah, I... yes, I think
I can open an envelope.

Well, I'm glad to hear that.

I shall discuss this conversation

with Mr. Jerome, my boss.

Do you think there's a chance?

I doubt it.

Oh.

Well, apparently

having absolutely no experience

is absolutely fine for this job.

You've got it.

Oh.

Does that mean
I should start tomorrow?

Yeah, I suppose it does.

Good morning.

Right.

Yes?

- Good morning, sir.
- Good morning.

I just wanted to introduce you

to our new junior secretary. Joe?

I believe you wanted to
explain her work duties.

- Hi.
- This is the new junior secretary, sir.

Liz, can I have another coffee?

- Yes, of course, sir.
- Thank you.

Hi.

Jerome?

Your first love.

I bet you didn't think I'd make
something of myself, right?

And now here I sit,

the director's chair of M&J Morris Ltd.

Yes, quite surprising.

Surprising?

It's a sign from God.

You know, I've thought about
you often since then.

Have you thought of me?

- Well...
- Ah.

Usually, you know,
my uncle sits here.

Mm-hmm.

But he's developed a
bit of a tummy problem,

so he's at the spa,
taking long baths,

drinking lots of water. Poor guy.

And no one knows for how long,

so now I'm the J in M&J Morris Ltd.

How about that?

We print cards and envelopes
and nonsense like that.

It's a bloody complicated
business, you know.

I don't understand a word of it.

Come on, I'll show you around. Yes?

- Liz?
- Yes sir?

Oh, look, there you are. Good job.

Every time you do a good job,
I say, "good job, Liz."

- Thank you, sir.
- What's her name?

- Liz.
- "Good job, Liz."

- Good job, Liz.
- Good job, Liz!

This is Bobby. Bobby,
say hello. This is Joe.

- Hello.
- He does the business cards.

It stopped.

Fuck.

Yes.

Well, isn't there an alarm?

To which?

- Isn't there an alarm?
- Alarm, all right, yes.

- Good thinking.
- I'll press this.

Imagine...

You look just as great
all these years later.

Oh no.

No.

No?

- Wha...?
- No, Jerome, this won't work.

- Which won't work?
- This.

Why not?

You're not really my type.

That's how it's gonna be?

- Yes.
- All right.

Fuck's sake.

Okay.

- Umm...
- Give me your hand.

In a fireman's grip.

Ooh!

- You okay?
- Yeah.

Why didn't you have sex with him?

I'm not quite sure.

I've shagged lots of idiots.

I suppose he fired you then.

No. If he had fired me,

then he would've lost.

As I didn't recall anyone
having defined my work duties,

I decided to clean up in
order to smooth the waters.

- Good morning, sir.
- Any calls?

No sir.

What have you done?

Oh. I cleaned up.

You cleaned up?

It... it was quite messy and...

- Liz?
- Yes sir?

She cleaned up.

I know... I didn't know, sir.

- I was away from my desk.
- Are you completely mad?

What is the tea and
pastry doing here?

I thought that's what you
wanted for breakfast.

You thought? Mmm!

You're not supposed to think.

I don't pay you to think, do I?

This is a do-over.

- A do-over?
- Right.

Pick it up, take it outside

and do it again.

One moment.

Come in.

Would now be a good time
for some tea and cake?

Sure, why not.

Where the fuck is my cake fork?

Cake fork?

- Right.
- Well...

I would've got you one,

but it just... Feels inappropriate.

Unmanly.

Feminine.

On the other hand,

you must say that a cake fork is...

Is a rather practical tool.

It's like a cross between
a knife and a fork.

The point is that you're supposed

to be able to hold the
cake dish with one hand,

then cut it with the other...

And then eat it with the fork.

- It's not feminine.
- It's at least bourgeois.

It's said that the...
The Bolsheviks

during their rampage
through Russia,

to separate the men from the boys,

or rather the bourgeoisie
from the proletariat,

they brought a boy,

and before burning down a house

they sent him in to make
sure they had cake forks.

That's not true.

I don't have the story first-hand.

- Hello.
- Hi.

Hi, I was wondering
if you could help me.

It's suddenly gone very dirty.

See, you put your dirty
fingers on there.

Maybe we should wash your hands.

Yeah, better.

Mm-hmm.

You must be very talented.

- Yeah sure.
- Mmm.

If you had asked Jerome,
he would've said

that I was the one who
had declared war.

Many times he'd take me into town,

just so I could hold his coat.

- There.
- Where?

There, behind the green car.

It's not big enough.

It is, there's plenty of space.

I saw it.

It's not enough space.

I'm telling you there's
plenty of space.

No.

Can I try?

Can you try?

I'm a wizard at this.

I just tried it. There's
not enough space, Joe.

You just saw me do it.
There's not enough space.

Okay?

- Can I try?
- You wanna try?

Why not?

It was about this time

that a dramatic change
happened inside of me.

I could suddenly see

a kind of order in the mess.

It was all very very wrong.

I wanted to be one
of Jerome's things.

I wanted to be picked up

and put down again and again.

I wanted to be treated
by his hands,

according to some
sophisticated principle

that I didn't understand.

His strong hands?

Yes, but now it was

no longer just about his hands.

It was as if everything
about him was different,

which of course it wasn't,

and I knew that in my head.

And I scolded myself for seeing him

in this new light.

Love is blind.

No no no, it's worse.

Love distorts things.

Or even worse, love is something

you've never asked for.

The erotic was
something I asked for

or even demanded of men.

But this idiotic love...

I felt humiliated by it...

And all the dishonesty
that follows.

The erotic is about saying yes.

Love appeals to the
lowest instincts,

wrapped up in lies.

How do you say yes

when you mean no and vice versa?

I'm ashamed of what I became,

but it was beyond my control.

You know what you're doing now?

No, what am I doing?

You're defending your personality.

I thought the point
was to reveal it.

At this time I took
up walking again.

I walked in the forest.

The forest of my childhood.

I took the same walk
again and again.

Right turn after the gatehouse,

and right again by the ash tree,

which has the most beautiful
leaves in the forest.

And further on past the
lady with her poodle

and the old man on the bench.

I couldn't free myself

of the image of Jerome and
his careless elegance.

And during this time, when
I was with other men,

I forbade them to touch
my body with their hands.

And soon I stopped
having sex altogether.

I tried to meet him all the time.

I found out where he lived,

but of course never dared
ring his doorbell.

I worked for a long
time on a letter

in which I told him about
my feelings for him.

A month would pass

before I had built
up enough courage

to deliver it.

I'm sorry. Isn't this
Jerome's office?

I'm happy to say that
this never has been

and never will be Jerome's office.

But my nephew has been standing
in for me while I've been unwell.

Was that a letter for him?

- Yes.
- Give it to me

and I will make sure he gets it.

I can't promise when that might be,

as he's long gone.

How the young finance

their irrepressible
desire for travel

is a mystery to me.

So he's gone?

Deserted us, yes.

Raving about a trip
around the world

- and married and all.
- Married?

Married, yes.

Flown the coop with my secretary.

Liz.

And your job?

It turned out that
Jerome's uncle demanded

a bit more knowledge about
the business, so...

That was the end of love then?

Well, maybe it's not
quite as simple.

But more about that later,

as they say in the novels.

And Jerome just disappeared?

Yes, though I tried to keep him,

in my own way, mentally,

as I masturbated on the
train amongst other people.

You masturbated on the train?

- On the seat?
- Yes, of course.

I did a jigsaw puzzle.

A jigsaw puzzle?

I found details in
the other passengers

that reminded me of Jerome.

But in the long run,

I couldn't hold on to
the details of him,

no matter how hard I tried.

Maybe that's how it is with memory.

You... you remember silhouettes,

the essentials.

But that's not
necessarily a bad thing.

Of course, as silhouettes
in the winter,

- the trees are difficult to tell apart.
- See these buds?

My father wrestled courageously

with his flora and
tree type guides.

It's actually...

The souls of the trees
we see in the winter.

In the summer, everything
is green and idyllic,

but in the winter,

the branches and the trunks,
they all stand out.

Just look at how
crooked they all are.

The branches have to
carry all of the leaves

into the sunlight.

It's one long struggle
for survival.

My father surprised me

by calling the naked trunks
the souls of the trees.

A poetic thought that
was rare for him,

as by his own account

he preferred the
empirical sciences.

And after Jerome?

I reacted...

Well, let's just say,

aggressively.

How?

By intensifying my hunt for men.

You know these supermarket doors

that open and close by way
of some kind of sensor?

Now compare these doors to my cunt

and add an extraordinarily
sensitive sensor.

My sensitive door opening

gave me an opportunity to develop

my morphological studies

from leaves to genitals.

I embarked on a trip through

what, in the lingo
of children's books,

one might call the country
of the big black cocks...

The country of the
small yellow cocks

and so on.

And most of all, I battled my way

through an untold number
of circumcised cocks.

By the way, did you know
that if you combine

all the foreskin cut
off through history

it would reach to
Mars and back again?

Mrs. H.

By now I had built up a
sizeable circle of men...

And was starting to have trouble

- ...remembering who was who.
- Hello, sweetheart. Want to meet?

It's fisher.

I'm lying here, thinking
of you and what you said.

I'm not angry at all if
that's what you think.

Hi, Joe, it's rob again.

I had a really good
time seeing you.

- Give me...
- ...Give me a call.

Hi, Joe, I left a
couple of messages.

- Is everything all right?
- I quickly gave up

trying to remember the
individual relationships.

It was impossible,

and impossible to predict
what they wanted to hear.

So I invented a method.

It was all based on chance.

A one meant an overly
loving answer.

A two, not quite as passionate
but still positive.

And so on up to five,

which was a complete rejection.

And six, no answer at all.

Hey, Eddie, it's me.

Listen, I've given
it a lot of thought

and I've come to the
conclusion that we're done.

Bye.

The trick with this method

was that I didn't have to worry

about the individual
relationships...

Hi, Patrick, it's Joe.

but instead became
completely unpredictable,

which of course drove
the men even wilder.

You're quite annoying,

so I don't want to see you anymore.

Please don't call back.

That sounds rather stressful.

Yes, actually it was.

But fortunately I had my
little book of comfort.

When I needed comfort or peace,

I took out my herbarium

and looked at my favorite leaves...

Ash, trembling Aspen and Lime.

When you're dealing with a larger
group of lovers, as I was,

there will typically
be a difference

in their qualities.

H was a sticky bastard.

You have to leave. I've
got guests for dinner.

But he's not coming until 7:00.

No.

But 7:00 isn't that far away.

Do you love me?

A was to arrive at 7:00,

and I needed to get H out of there.

I love you too much.

You keep promising,
but I understand now

that you'll never leave
your family for my sake.

It's sad, but...

It's your choice.

It's not satisfying for me

that I can't have you completely.

Which is why we can't see
each other any longer.

Goodbye.

Look, I...

And have a nice life.

Oh. Ugh. Wow.

My darling, I'm yours.

I've left her.

- Has he gone inside?
- Yes.

Is the door closed?

- Uh, hello.
- Hello.

Apologize.

We... had promised not to come up.

We just wanted to make sure

he got here safely, now that
he's made the big decision.

May the children see him inside?

What a nice place.

It's... so bohemian.

Oh, that's right.

- You need the car key.
- Uh, no, I don't need the car.

Oh yes, you do.

He likes the car.

Here.

- No, please. Just take it.
- I don't want it.

- Just take it.
- I don't want the fucking car!

It's all right.

We'll get the bus home.

The children might as well get used
to public transport now, right?

Of course, their standard of living

won't be the same anymore, but...

Hey. What's this?

It's a present.

A pillow he has
embroidered himself.

- And who's it for?
- Daddy.

I do hope it's all right
if the children call

their father "daddy" here.

If you prefer,

they can call him "him"

or simply "the man."

To be honest, my first
thought was never ever

to let either of you
see the children,

but then I changed my mind.

I thought it only right that
their father be confronted

by the little people whose
lives he has destroyed.

Give daddy your present.

It's a car the little
dear has embroidered.

I'm aware that not
everyone can see it,

but with the heart
one can see much,

however unimportant that
information may be to you.

Would it be all right

if I showed the children
the whoring bed?

After all, they also have
a stake in this event.

You need to see it, right?

Let's go see daddy's
favorite place.

Come on, boys.

Oh...!

So this is where it all happened.

You should try to
memorize this room,

especially the bed.

It'll stand you in good
stead later in therapy.

Here I sit, rambling
on about therapy

without a thought of
what it might cost.

I do hope you don't think
we're here to beg.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I'm being silly.
Mommy's being silly.

Let's have a cup of tea.

The children's father likes

two lumps of sugar in his tea.

Mmm!

I'll get it. Hm-mmm.

- No no no, please please please.
- Hm-mmm.

- Hello.
- Hello.

- Yes?
- Uh...

Oh, how nice! Lovely.

- Boys. Come here.
- Is Joe here?

This might be interesting.

- Hi. Yes.
- This is my son. Yes.

- Hello hello.
- Good boy. Look him in the eyes.

I'm Andy. Hello.

Friend of Joe's then?

- Yeah.
- You known each other long?

- Um, not that long, no.
- Not terribly long?

- No.
- Oh.

A menage a trois.

It's all so exotic.

So... broad-minded.

On that point...

I failed.

No doubt about it.

Boys, now is the time to be alert

and ask all the questions
your hearts' desire,

because...

I hope that you shall
never have to encounter

such people or be in such
a situation ever again.

Well? Hmm?

You don't have any questions?

No?

Well, I'll start, shall I?

Approximately how many lives

do you think she has time
to destroy in one day?

Five?

50?

Or several hundreds?

Look, this is just a
big misunderstanding.

Boys...

- I don't...
- I don't love your father.

She's just saying that
to make us feel better.

I'm sure you understand that.

Because if it were
a joke, I mean...

If... this were really a joke,

then it would be a joke so cruel.

No one can be that cruel.

To destroy a mesh of feelings woven

over 20 years is no joke,
I can assure you.

Well...

If three's a crowd,
then seven must be a bit

of a challenge for the pretty miss.

I must say I have a hard time

picturing her enjoying loneliness.

I think we'd better grab
the chance to get away,

before things become grotesque.

Come on.

- No, dad!
- No. No. No.

Come on.

You wouldn't want to give your father
a guilty conscience now, would you?

So how did this episode
affect your life?

Not at all.

- Not at all?
- No.

You can't make an omelet
without breaking a few eggs.

Oh, that's true.

Some people...

Blame the addict.

Other people feel
sorry for the addict.

But I was an addict out
of lust, not out of need.

You would say that, wouldn't you?

And lust that led to
destruction around me...

Everywhere I went.

Well, addiction
sometimes leads to an...

Absence of empathy.

You can't fight a lion
and blow the noses

of your children at the same time.

For me, nymphomania
was callousness.

You're very stubborn.

But what about yourself?

How did you feel during all this?

Did you feel good

or did you feel bad?

Mrs. H was right about
the loneliness.

I'd be lying if I said

it hadn't been my
constant companion.

So you were with all these men

and you still felt alone?

I didn't want to
tell you about it...

But you've led me into a trap.

It was a certain feeling.

Oh, how awful that everything
has to be so trivial.

When I was seven,
I had to have an operation.

Nothing serious, but it
did require anesthesia.

I had already been pre-medicated

and was feeling all right.

But when I looked into the room
where the doctors and nurses

were preparing for the operation...

It was as if I had to pass through

an impenetrable gate all by myself.

It wasn't just that
I missed my mom.

I don't think I missed my dad,

even though he was the nice one.

It was as if I was completely alone

in the universe.

As if my whole body was filled
with loneliness and tears.

And I'm still not allowed
to feel sorry for you?

Shall we go on?

What are you reading?

I'm not reading really. I'm just

reacquainting myself
with Edgar Allan Poe.

I don't know him.

No. Well, he was a...

A very anxiety-ridden man.

He died in the most fearful
way you can imagine,

in something called
delirium tremens.

It occurs when a long
time abuse of alcohol

is followed by... by
a sudden abstinence.

And your body goes into some
kind of a hypersensitive shock.

You can see the most
horrifying hallucinations

like rats and snakes
and cockroaches

coming out of the floor and
worms slithering in the walls.

One's entire nervous
system is on high alert

and you have a constant
panic and paranoia.

And then the circulatory
system fails.

But the panic and horror...

Remains until the moment of death.

I know what delirium is.

"During the whole of a dull,
dark, and soundless day"

in the autumn of the year,

when the clouds hung
oppressively low in the heavens,

I had been passing
alone, on horseback,

through a singularly
dreary tract of country,

and at length found myself,

as the shades of the
evening drew on,

"within view of the
melancholy House of Usher."

Hey, dad.

Hey, luv.

How are you?

I fought with mom.

She's... She's not coming.

You ought not to fight with her.

You know Kay's fear of hospitals.

I know she's not coming.

We already said everything
we needed to say.

Kay and I said goodbye at home.

I don't want her here at all.

I can't accept that.

You'll have to.

She's a cowardly stupid bitch.

No, she's not.

- Yes. Yes.
- No, she's not. No, she's not.

Yes, she is, and you've
never understood that.

Mmm.

Doesn't it scare you?

No.

No.

How can you not be afraid?

I've seen so many die.

Then there's that...

Epicurus quote about
not fearing death.

"When we are, death has not come."

When death has come...

"We are not."

We know what's going to happen.

I also know all of the drugs
the doctors have to offer.

So no...

I am not...

I am not afraid.

Hmm. A beautiful girl.

Beautiful dad.

K-Kay!

Daddy, it's okay.

Kay?

Daddy.

Hey.

It's gonna be okay.

Don't you want to
take a little walk?

I'll stay with your
father in the meantime.

You'll stay?

- You'll stay here?
- Yes.

Ash tree leaves.

Where did you find them?

They were in the park.

It truly is the most beautiful
tree in the forest.

But, dad...

How do you recognize it in winter?

I've told you a hundred times.

But I can't remember.

When the ash tree was created...

It made all the other trees
in the forest jealous...

'Cause it was...

It was the most beautiful
tree in the forest.

It had the strongest wood.

It was the world tree
in norse mythology.

You couldn't say
anything bad about it.

And when all the other trees...

Saw the ash tree with its...

Black buds...

They all started laughing.

"Oh, look...

The ash tree's had its
fingers in the ashes."

Dad. Daddy!

Daddy. Daddy, what's wrong?
Daddy, what's wrong?

What's wrong?

Daddy, it's me!

It's me, daddy. It's me!

Help! Help!

- Daddy, it's okay.
- Okay.

Okay.

It's okay.

It's okay. It's all right.

It's all right.

We have to fixate him.

What are you doing?

What are you doing to me?

Joe! What are you doing to me?

Joe! Help! Joe!

You should take a break.

Okay.

Excuse me.

Can you help me to clean... um...

Oh.

Okay, mister... Don't worry.

Just... I need some help.

We're going to have
to change the sheets.

Ready?

When he died,

I had no feelings left.

Well, that's certainly
understandable.

No.

I don't know what happened to me.

It was very shameful.

Shameful?

I don't understand.

I lubricated.

I know you like to present yourself

in a negative way and that you
have this kind of dark bias

that you're worse
than everyone else.

But this story doesn't
add to that belief.

It's extremely common to
react sexually in a crisis.

It may be shameful to you,

but in literature there's
many worse examples.

You listen to music, I see?

Yes. I like it a lot.

Shall I find a tape?

No, if there's a tape
already in the machine,

I'd like to hear that.

It's something I've been
listening to a lot lately,

though it's not an entirely
complete recording, unfortunately.

- What is it?
- It's Bach,

from his little organ book.

"Ich ruf zu dir, herr Jesu Christ."

The theme is originally a hymn,

but Bach rearranged it and
embellished it a little.

He was the master of polyphony,
if you know what that is.

No. Yet another thing I don't know.

Well, polyphony is

from the middle ages.

It's an entirely
European phenomenon.

It's distinguished by...

By the idea that every voice

is its own melody

but together in harmony.

Bach's forerunner Palestrina,

he wrote many works
for several choirs

at the same time,
wallowing in polyphony.

But in my eyes, Bach perfected

the melodic expression
and the harmony.

And also... Also mixed
up with some...

Rather incomprehensible
mystique regarding numbers,

most likely based on the
fibonacci sequence.

You know, the one that
starts with a zero,

then comes the one.

The sequence is created by
adding the two previous numbers

to create the new one, so
it's zero plus one makes one,

and one plus one makes two,
and two plus one makes three,

and three plus two makes five,
and five plus three makes eight,

and eight plus five makes 13.

The sequence has an
interesting connection

to Pythagoras' theorem
and the golden section.

It was all about finding
a divine methodology

in art and architecture.

A bit like the way a tritone...

Which was played on the
piano in your little club...

Was supposed to be a
satanic interval.

The sum of the numeric values
represented in Bach's name

is 14, a number he often
used in his compositions.

The clever thing about Bach's name

is that the numeric value
of the individual letters

are all fibonacci numbers.

This piece has three voices:

A bass voice...

The second voice played
with the left hand...

The first voice played
with the right hand.

That is called cantus firmus
or "can-toos feer-mus."

And together, these three
voices create the polyphony.

Normally, a nymphomaniac is seen as

someone who can't get enough

and therefore has sex with
many different people.

Well, that of course is true,

but if I'm to be honest,

I see it precisely as...

The sum of all these different
sexual experiences.

So in that way,
I have only one lover.

Since the music has three voices,

I will limit myself to
talking about three lovers.

That's F.

F had a red car that
he'd bought used.

As I was having sex

with seven or eight men
every night at the time,

scheduling was tricky

and they all had to have
precise appointments.

F was a good man.

If he was scheduled for 10:00,

he always showed up around 9:00

and parked down in the street.

I always smiled when I saw him.

Often I took pity on him

and gave him a cup of coffee

while I was finishing
with the one before.

It's hard to say why I'm
choosing to talk about F,

but he was reassuring,

and he knew exactly what
I wanted when we had sex.

No, I'd go even further and say

that there was a kind of telepathy
going on when we had sex.

Without words,

he knew exactly what I wanted,

where he should touch me
and what he should do.

The most sacred goal
for F was my orgasm.

Well, and then...

The swans answered
in the same voice.

And granted him privileges
none of the others received.

Monotone, predictable
and ritualistic.

No doubt about it.

But also the foundation
that is so important

even if, on its own,
it doesn't mean much.

G was quite different.

The only one I had to
and wanted to wait for.

When he finally turned up
and I opened the door,

he didn't immediately enter,

the way a cat doesn't
when you let it in,

as if once the door is open,

it has all the time in the world.

But he was more than a cat.

He was like some kind
of jaguar or leopard.

He moved like them,

which turned me on no end.

He was in charge.

That's the way it was.

Despite my success in managing

the complicated logistics
involved in arranging

up to 10 daily sexual satisfactions

while also having a full-time job,

I was still prone to
a certain sadness.

So when my busy life
allowed a few breaks,

I used them to take my walks.

These repeated walks became

monotonous and pointless.

Yes, precisely like

the movements of a caged animal.

Basically, we're all waiting
for permission to die.

No.

No no no.

No, there...

There are some completely
unrealistic coincidences

in your story about Jerome.

First, by chance he hires you as...

As an assistant and then you
take a walk in a forest

that is littered with
photographs of him.

And not only that, he's present.

And then like a God,

pulls you up to him
through the clouds.

Goodness gracious.

Jerome was there because he had

just had a fight with his wife,

who, in anger, tore
up the photographs

they just had developed
from their travels.

Oh, I don't know if
I can believe this.

Which way do you think you'd
get the most out of my story?

By believing in it or
by not believing in it?

No, you're right.

You might have a
point with all this.

The secret ingredient
to sex is love.

The third voice: The secret ingredient.

Cantus firmus.

Ah.

Fill all my holes.

What's wrong? Hmm?

I can't feel anything.

- Huh?
- I can't feel anything.

I can't feel anything.

I can't... anything.

♪ Nymphomania... ♪

♪ Nymphomania... ♪

♪ Nymphomania... ♪

♪ Nymphomania... ♪

♪ Nymphomania... ♪

♪ Nymphomania... ♪