Nymphomaniac/Transcript

==Vol. 1==
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 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.
Here's a pajama.
Thank you.
I've made up the bed for you.
With clean sheets.
- Sorry.
- That's okay.
There.
- I'll wash your clothes.
- Not my coat.
It smells rather badly.
It's my coat.
The smell won't come off anyway.
It's your coat.
- Do you take sugar?
- No, thank you.
There you go.
Thank you.
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?
That'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.
The locals catch a lot more.
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.
"Cunt" is a very strong word.
Let's call it
"Pandora's Box" then.
Um... No, no, no.
"Cunt" is better.
So, I was a nymphomaniac.
Wait a moment, no.
Nobody can be a nymphomaniac
when they're only two years old.
I don't think even the strictest God
would see anything else
than a child's normal behavior.
What about fetuses?
It's common knowledge
that fetuses often touch
their genital organs.
Can a fetus somehow be sinful?
Why not?
Not according to any religion I know,
unless it's an original sin.
Ancestral.
Or perhaps according to a religion
that doesn't exist yet.
According to a god that hasn't
yet manifested himself.
But then you can imagine anything.
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.
Well, 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.
Well, 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.
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.
It was the World Tree
in Norse mythology.
Remember, Odin...
He hung from the ash tree,
Yggdrasil, for nine days
in order to gain insight.
The ash tree had
the strongest wood.
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 has had
its fingers in the ashes."
See?
You can always tell
the ash tree in winter
by the black buds.
Now...
Now this is a lime tree leaf.
- Remember?
- I forgot about the lime tree.
I've told you 100 times.
My dad loved
telling me about the trees,
and their leaves,
and considered it
part of a good education.
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.
Sometimes I pretended
I'd forgotten them.
Originally, the lime
tree's leaves were round.
A fox had her den
beneath its roots
where she had four cubs.
One day, she went out
looking for food for them.
There was a hunt in the forest.
She was shot.
Wounded, she crawled back to the den
where she and the four cubs died.
This made the lime tree so sad.
And from then on,
the lime tree decided to have...
heart-shaped leaves.
Oh, yes, that's right.
Heart-shaped.
Am I boring you?
No, no. I'm just
looking forward
to how you'll get fishing
weaved into your tale.
You could start with the fly
on the wall there.
It's called a nymph.
It will 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,
you imagine that?
- That's not very good.
- Hmm?
- It's not very good.
- No, it bloody isn't.
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 would fuck
the most men
when we reached the destination
would win the chocolate sweets.
May I interrupt here?
What you were doing when you
walked down that corridor.
You were reading the river.
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.
What do I do?
Smile and make eye contact.
But what if it doesn't work?
If you have to talk, remember
to ask lots 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. What if it's nasty?
Then you just think of the bag
of chocolate sweeties.
What... What time is it?
Ten.
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.
Let me 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.
It's observable, but it's
highly unpredictable.
And it has to do with,
I don't know,
weather, barometric pressure,
maybe some fish psychology.
If that's possible.
Anyway, 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. 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.
Hey.
Sorry.
Nothing to feel sorry about.
I'm just not feeling
very well today.
What could be so bad?
Oh, thank you.
I can't talk about it right now.
Can I just sit here
for awhile?
Yeah. Sure.
Is it better now?
No.
- 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?
That's not so bad.
Would have 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 made the cage nice
and cozy for her when...
- When I got her.
- I bet she 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.
How long does a dwarf hamster
actually live?
Months, years?
Its life is much too short.
Would you show me
where the lavatory is?
I... have to blow my nose.
Just the same,
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 have lost it.
Perhaps.
Drop yours as well, did you?
I haven't bought a ticket
for your shitty train.
It's so bloody slow,
we should have been
at the end of the track
half an hour ago.
Regardless of delays, you still
need a ticket, sweetheart.
Eight pounds each, please.
Ooh!
I accidentally tore it up.
Can't expect me 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...
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.
Leave your money where it is.
We'll let the police
deal with these two.
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.
You have to split them up
into whether they have
a goal and a mission or not.
That one doesn't.
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.
A salmon or a trout,
for example,
eats itself fat
while in salt water,
and then basically
has no need to eat
as it makes its way upstream
to the spawning grounds.
They're not hungry but they
will react instinctively
to the right provocation.
Which would not be a fly,
but for instance,
a brightly colored wobbler,
preferably red,
served immediately
in front of the fish.
The very best is one we call
the Finnish Weapon.
The so-called "Rappala."
I don't know if it's comparable,
but I decided in any case
to find out
why he hadn't taken the bait,
and to use my
psychological abilities,
which B, in my opinion,
didn't possess to the same degree.
You've bought a gift.
Yes.
It's for my wife.
- No gifts for the children?
- No.
We don't have any, actually.
Well, you seem rather well-to-do.
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.
So you've been saving your sperm.
For weeks. I mean,
you and your wife are...
seem to be at an age
where every attempt
to become pregnant has to be
taken very seriously.
Right now, my...
My sperm quality
is at its peak, I'm told.
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 don't.
Oh, fuck.
Wow.
In your case, it wasn't
the taste of a Madeleine cake,
moistened with lime blossom tea,
but the combination
of chocolate and sperm.
What?
That was a piece of
culturally blasphemic digression.
It's a story about memory.
How the combination
of two flavors
set off a chain of memories.
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 reprehensibly.
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...
A very pleasurable
and humorous story.
Not at all sad, or...
or weighed down by sin.
Like all that talk
about Pandora's Box.
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 cheerful.
Full of humor.
It wasn't as if you embarked
on some tragic tale.
Well, that's the way I am.
I've always loved
the chills at the start of a fever,
knowing only too well that
sickness will soon follow.
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.
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 a 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?
Allow me to digress.
I read a book about
Sikorski and helicopters
where the author
stressed the fact that
in order to take off, you tilt
the helicopter forward.
It looks like you're trying
to force the helicopter
down into the ground,
but the effect is the contrary.
That the velocity
takes the helicopter
and sweeps it up in the air.
The pilots say the helicopter
wants to fly.
It's like when you're
in a glider plane,
and suddenly you're lifted,
because of the spontaneous
emission of thermals.
Thermals is when the sun
is warming up the field,
and it emits a thermal bubble
of warm air that rises.
These aircraft, they want to fly.
It's just a little
unpredictable when.
You flew on that... on that train.
And that surprised you.
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.
Why let the sentimental part
of religion, as you said,
outlive religion itself?
You have a point.
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're more light-hearted.
They have a tendency
to enjoy life more,
because they go straight
for the easiest task, and...
save the 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 when you've
done the left hand,
only the right hand remains.
That's the easiest one left.
I never thought of it like that.
Well, you're never too old.
Never too old to learn.
That's rugelach.
Mm-hmm.
Yeah, it's a Jewish cake.
- There's that sentimentality again.
- Oh, but it's more than rugelach.
It's rugelach served
with a cake fork.
A 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.
But as you've read
a great deal, apparently,
you know that in a story
things have to be good
before they can be bad.
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.
- Yeah.
- Yeah, sure.
It might not be important to you...
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 devils interval.
It was banned from music
in the Middle Ages.
Well, the Vacuum Cleaner invented it.
She took piano lessons.
Vacuum Cleaner?
The Vacuum Cleaner possessed
a special talent for floppy cocks.
She had some kind of vacuum
in her cunt.
I was imagining something like that.
Fourteenth of the eighth.
I was at a place called The Donkey.
The boys were staring,
University hangout.
I approached the stupidest
one of the lot
and asked for directions
to the underground.
He studied literature.
I told him I read a lot,
and that I really admired people
that chose to study subjects
in depth.
As I said, he was very stupid.
Told me all about Kierkegaard.
I nodded, smiled.
Then he asked
if we could go elsewhere.
The idiot thought he'd pulled me
after five minutes of his bullshit.
I told him I was on my period,
and I took out his cock
and gave him a hand job.
Ugly, little shriveled cock,
with a tight foreskin.
When I pulled it back,
it sort of collapsed
but it worked in the end.
University boys are disgusting.
And then I jacked him off
until he shook
in that way they do, you know.
Just before they come.
Then I let go of his cock and got up.
I left him standing up against the wall
with his pants round his ankles
looking stunned.
Now, B's message wasn't
exactly representational.
She just had to be the tough one.
It was directed at the men.
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.
You said you were rebellious.
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?
Yes, but he was rather sweet.
Sweet?
- Well, you know, sexy.
- Well, then, say sexy.
He squeezed my earlobes.
Earlobes? Great.
What else did he squeeze?
I don't think
you can understand Alex.
I don't want to.
- Our relationship--
- Relationship.
There you are.
The way you're describing it,
which should be full of lust,
is just a nauseating analysis
of his future abilities
as a father to your child.
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 100 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?
Well, I just pictured
how an education would be
conveyed in your storytelling.
Well, that's nothing to smile about.
Oh, I understand that.
So what kind of education
did you get?
I began studying medicine,
like my father.
Today we are going to perform the
procedure that's called an abortion.
We open up our cervical channel
to enter the uterus,
and to get access to the fetus,
for which we use
the so-called Hegal sticks.
We enter the vagina tract,
and go into the cervical channel.
We start with a small sized stick
to cause a minimum of damage
to the tissue.
And then we increase
the size of the stick.
But it was harder and
harder for me to concentrate,
so I studied less and less,
till finally I dropped out.
My dad was very disappointed
when I stopped.
But it was the only time
I saw my mother really smile
when she said,
"What did I tell you?"
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?
Yes, 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.
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.
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.
- Yeah, it's 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...
- What?
Usually, you know,
my uncle sits here.
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,
nonsense like that.
It's a bloody complicated
business, you know.
I don't understand a word of it.
Come, I'll show you around. Yes?
- Ladies?
- 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.
It stopped.
Fuck.
Yes.
- Well, isn't there an alarm?
- Which?
- Isn't there...
- Alarm, right, yes.
Good thinking.
Imagine...
you look just as great
all these years later.
Oh, no.
- No.
- No?
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.
Um...
Give me your hand.
We'll do fireman's grip.
- You okay?
- Yeah.
Why didn't you
have sex with him?
You must have had sex
in a lift before.
I'm not quite sure.
I've shagged lots of idiots.
Including worse idiots than him.
Of course, I...
I regretted that it had
been him back then.
But that's just sentimental drivel.
And I'm not sentimental.
I suppose he fired you then.
No. If he had fired me,
then he would have 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 was quite messy, and--
- Liz?
- Yes, sir?
- She cleaned up.
I know, I... 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--
You thought?
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's my cake fork?
- Cake fork?
- Right.
Well, I would have got you one,
but it just... feels inappropriate.
Unmanly.
Feminine.
Well, on the other hand,
you must say that a cake fork
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
and 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 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, yes?
See, you've got your dirty
fingers on there.
Maybe we should
wash your hands.
Yeah, better.
Mm-hmm.
- You must be very talented.
- Yeah, sure.
Hmm.
You see, here's got a stain.
If you'd asked
Jerome, he would have said
that I was the one
who'd 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. It's too small a space
for such a long car.
Can I try?
- Can you try?
- I'm a wizard at this.
I just tried, it's not enough space, Joe.
You just saw me do it.
It's not enough space, okay?
- Can I try?
- Fuck. You want to try?
Why not?
Stupid.
It was about
this time that a dramatic change
happened inside of me.
I could suddenly see a kind
of order in the mess.
Are you just standing here looking?
Yeah. I've begun to like his mess.
How do you mean?
Well, these are all things
placed by Jerome.
I mean, by Jerome's hands.
Sounds to me like you would like
to be handled by Mr. Jerome.
Darling, you're in love with him.
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's 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.
- Thank you.
- You're welcome.
Thank you meaning, "That's all."
You can go now.
Goodbye, Joe.
At this time,
I took up walking again.
You walked in the forest?
Yes, 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 a 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 even started humiliating
myself on purpose
in order for him to notice me.
You broke a taillight.
I did.
I thought you were such
a wizard at parking.
So did I.
It'll be deducted from your salary.
It's a long car.
I worked for
a long time on a letter
in which I told him about
my feelings for him,
but couldn't bring myself
to hand it over.
- Bye.
- Bye. Bye.
A month would pass
before I had built up
enough courage to deliver it.
Well, I've written him
a letter after all.
Do you think that the letter
is a bad idea?
No, I think it's
the right thing to do.
I'm just... I think maybe
you should wait until Friday.
Why?
He's always in a good mood
on Fridays.
Okay.
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.
My nephew has been standing in for me
while I've been unwell.
What's that? A letter for him?
Yes.
Give it to me
and I'll make sure he gets it.
Can't promise when that might be
because 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?
Marriage, yes.
Flown the coop with my secretary.
Liz.
And your job?
Well, it turned out
that Jerome's uncle
demanded a bit more knowledge
about the business, so...
I see.
Well, as for evidence of you
being a bad human being,
there wasn't much to go on
in this chapter.
Yes, as I said.
At least superficially.
- I suppose you were jealous.
- No, I wasn't jealous.
I didn't know that feeling.
It's almost superhuman
not to feel jealousy.
Well, that was the end of love, then?
Well, maybe not quite as simple.
But more about that later,
as they say in the novels.
And Jerome just disappeared?
Yes. Though I'd 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.
- And that's possible?
Easily.
You just put your coat in your lap.
It can be done silently
without expression.
The only thing
that could give me away
and mostly to women,
was my open mouth when I came.
I did a jigsaw puzzle.
Ajigsaw puzzle?
I found details
in the other passengers
that reminded me of Jerome.
But in the long run,
I couldn't hold onto
the details of him,
no matter how hard I tried.
So, you could say that in a way,
Jerome followed you
as a kind of silhouette.
Yes, but gradually disappearing
as a sexual being.
Maybe that's how it is with memory.
You remember silhouettes.
The essentials.
But that's not necessarily
a bad thing.
Of course
there's silhouettes in the winter.
The trees are difficult
to tell apart.
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 summer, everything's
green and idyllic,
but in the winter, the branches
and the trunks, they all stand out.
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, um...
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 knees to genitals.
I embarked on a trip through, what,
in the lingo of children's books,
one might call, "The Country
of the Big, Bad 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 sizable 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're thinking.
Hi, Joe. It's Rob again.
I had a really
good time seeing you.
Give me a... 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.
The trick with this method
was that I didn't have to worry about
the individual relationships,
but instead became
completely unpredictable,
which, of course,
drove the men even wilder.
Hey, Eddie, it's me.
Listen, I've given this
a lot of thought,
and I've come to the conclusion
that we're done. Bye.
I was just wondering
if you wanted to come back,
and maybe we can
do something nice.
Hi, Patrick, it's Joe.
I had a really lovely time with you,
and I'd love for you to come back.
If you're interested,
let me know. Bye.
I really don't think we match,
and 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.
I had invited A for dinner,
as he was my favorite,
while H, who was present,
had become quite irritating.
You have to leave.
I've got guests for dinner.
But he's not coming until seven.
No. But seven isn't that far away.
Do you love me?
A was to arrive at seven,
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...
Have a nice life.
My darling, I'm yours.
I've left her.
- Has he gone inside?
- Yes.
Is the door closed?
- Uh, hello.
- Hello.
Apologize. We, uh...
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?
They say that the experience
of saying goodbye
can be very useful later
when dealing with trauma.
What a nice place.
It's, uh... so bohemian.
We used to have a place
like this before we were...
we were married.
Before the children,
me and my husband.
Oh, I'm sorry.
He isn't anymore, is he?
It's all so new and confusing.
He wanted to give us
everything, but, uh...
Of course we couldn't accept that.
Oh, that's right.
- You need the car key.
- No, I don't need the car.
Oh, yes, you do.
He likes the car.
Here.
- 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.
Children might as well get used
to public transport now, right?
Of course, their standard of living
won't be the same anymore, but...
I'm not saying that
to bother anyone.
One has to be realistic.
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."
Whatever.
"Whatever."
Must be hard when
you've got everything,
to know what to say.
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's 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 show
the children the whoring bed?
After all, they also had
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.
Oh.
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.
Being silly. Mommy's being silly.
Let's have a cup of tea.
Hope it's not too weak.
Afraid I'm rather nervous.
The children's father likes
two lumps of sugar in his tea.
Mm-mm.
I'll get it.
Mm-mm.
- No, no, please, please.
- Hello.
- Hello.
- Yes?
- Uh...
How nice. Lovely.
- Boys, come here.
- Is Joe here?
This might be interesting.
- This is my son.
- Yes.
- Yes.
- Hello, hello.
- Look him in the eyes.
- I'm Andy. Hello.
- Friend of Joe's then?
- Yeah.
- You known each other long?
- Uh... Not that long, no.
- Not very 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 heart's 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?
I admit the latter sounds improbable,
but where there's a will
there's a way.
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.
They say that even the Huns
on their rampage
were rather unreserved,
but to split up a family...
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 better grab
the chance to get away
before things become grotesque.
No, no, no!
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.
Well, 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?
It's funny because
when I think about my life
as a whole, I can only say
that I felt good.
But when I try and remember
a specific episode,
I'd say that just then
I felt rather bad.
In what way?
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 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 it really, I'm just...
reacquainting myself
with Edgar Allan Poe.
I don't know him.
Well, he was a...
very anxiety-ridden man.
He died in the most fearful way
you can imagine,
in something called delirium tremens.
It occurs when the long-time
abuse of alcohol is followed by...
by a sudden abstinence.
Your body goes into some kind
of hyper-sensitive shock.
You can see the most
horrifying hallucinations
or rats and snakes, and cockroaches
coming out of the floor,
and worms slithering 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.
Hi, love.
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.
- Yeah.
- No, she's not.
- Yes.
- No, she's not.
Yes, she is.
You've never understood that.
Doesn't it scare you?
No.
How can you not be afraid?
I've seen so many die.
And there's that Epicurus quote
about not fearing death.
"When we are, death has not come.
When death has come... we are not."
You know it's going to happen.
I also know all the drugs
the doctors have to offer.
So, no.
I am not...
I am not afraid.
Hmm. My beautiful girl.
Beautiful dad.
Hello, Doctor.
Hello, Doctor.
This is my daughter Joe.
- Hey, Joe.
- Hi.
Do you need anything?
As I've said, I've decided to be
an exemplary patient,
completely subjecting myself
- to doctor's orders.
- Are you in pain?
I don't think so, no.
We're going to give you
a splash all the same.
Your hair is longer.
No, it's not.
They're giving you
too much medication.
No.
Dad.
It's okay, Dad.
You're just dreaming.
You're having a nightmare.
It's okay.
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay.
Okay. Don't worry, I'm going
to get the doctor. Don't worry.
You must be exhausted.
I'm fine.
I think you should go home,
get some rest.
No. Someone needs to be here.
Perhaps you could share
with some other family members.
There aren't any others.
Kay!
Daddy, it's okay.
Kay?
Kay.
Kay. Kay.
Kay.
Kay! Kay.
- Kay!
- I'm going to get the doctor.
Kay!
I'm going to get the doctor, Daddy.
Excuse me. My dad is really unwell.
Sit. I'll go have a look.
Maybe you could give him
some more morphine.
There's something
I'd like to explain.
I can certainly give him
more morphine,
but most likely it won't
make much difference.
Most deaths, fortunately,
are uneventful,
as long as you medicate the patients
to keep them free of fear and pain.
In a few cases,
the process of dying
causes brain damage,
which triggers
what we call delirium.
That's not something we can soften
with morphine, unfortunately.
Daddy.
It's gonna be okay.
I don't know
what's happening to me.
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?
Told you 100 times.
I can't remember.
When the ash tree was created...
it made all the other trees
in the forest jealous,
because it was...
It was the most beautiful tree
in the forest.
It had the strongest wood.
It could be used for anything.
It was the World Tree
in Norse mythology.
You couldn't say
anything bad about it.
And then 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?
Daddy, it's me!
It's me, then. It's me!
Help! Help!
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!
Joe!
I'm sorry.
You should take a break.
Excuse me.
Okay, don't worry.
Just clean that up.
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 is many worse examples.
But I did inherit
my father's caliper.
I found it so beautiful
and worn by its use.
What else did you receive?
Nothing.
I didn't have the strength
to argue with my mother,
so I wrote off any further
part of my inheritance.
Really?
Well, that's a dramatic gesture.
- 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.
The theme is originally a hymn,
Bach rearranged it
and embellished it a little.
He was the master at polyphony,
if you know what that is.
No, yet another thing I don't know.
Polyphony is
from the Middle Ages.
It's an entirely European phenomenon.
It's distinguished
by the idea that,
every voice is its own melody,
but together in harmony.
Bach's forerunner, Palestrina,
he wrote many words
for several choirs at the same time,
wallowing in polyphony.
But in my eyes, Bach perfected
the melodic expression
and the harmony.
And also mixed up with some
rather incomprehensible
mystique regarding numbers,
most likely based on
the Fibonacci Sequence.
You know the one that
starts with the zero,
and 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
of the Golden Section.
It was all about finding out
a divine methodology
in art and architecture.
A bit like the way a tri-tone,
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:
the bass voice...
The second voice
played with the left hand.
The first voice played
with the right hand.
That is called
Cantus Firmus, or Cantu firmus.
And together, these three voices
create the polyphony.
Well, if I should compare
this with my story,
it's reminiscent of
a quality of nymphomania,
which is normally ignored,
but nonetheless essential,
and namely the relationship
between the various intercourses.
That's interesting.
They create a... a completeness?
As, for example, the handshake,
which for all people
is the sum of
all the different handshakes
that together
form our view
of what a handshake is.
The good, the bad handshake,
the firm, the limp.
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.
The bass is easy.
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 ten o'clock,
he always showed up around nine
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,
although 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.
Why? And then...
the swans answered
in the same voice.
And granted him privileges
none of the others received.
F was the bass voice.
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.
When he laid down on my bed,
it was clear to me that
I should approach him,
and not the other way round.
And when I did touch him,
it was with some hesitation,
as his reactions
were unpredictable.
He was in charge.
That's the way it was.
Despite my success in managing
the complicated logistics
involved with arranging
up to ten 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 a kind of metaphor
for my life.
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,
and it's 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.
So what?
That's the way this story goes.
And I'm the one telling it,
and I know what happened.
Do you want to hear it or not?
Goodness gracious.
What a strange way to meet.
Yes.
It's a very strange way.
Jerome was there
because he'd just had a fight
with his wife, who in anger
tore up the photographs
they just had developed
from their travels.
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 not believing in it?
Yeah, 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.
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.
==Vol. II==
Can I help you?
I have to go back a bit.
I was 12 years old
and on a school trip in the hills.
Are you making fun of me?
What do you mean?
You have this orgasm,
not only an orgasm,
- ...but a spontaneous orgasm.
- Yes, it was an orgasm,
though the doctor
described it as a...
An epileptic seizure.
And during that orgasm,
you have this vision
of these two women
on each side of you?
Was she holding the veil
with two fingers like this?
What's the matter?
You don't even know who
these women were, do you?
No, but one of them did
look like the Virgin Mary,
now that you mention it.
Well, it wasn't the Virgin
Mary, I can tell you that.
From your description,
it must've been
Valeria Messalina,
the wife of Emperor Claudius,
the most notorious
nymphomaniac in history.
And the other woman,
the one astride the creature,
that was no one else but
the great whore of Babylon
riding on Nimrod in
the form of a bull.
Your story is like a...
Blasphemous retelling
of the transfiguration
of Jesus on the mount...
Which is one of the
eastern church's
holiest passages.
It's when the humanity of Christ
is illuminated by the
divine light of eternity.
If anyone else would
have told me that story,
I would've seen it as
a blasphemous joke,
spiced up with a biblical light
emanating from nothing less
than a spontaneous orgasm.
And then later, you lost
your orgasm altogether.
Wagner.
"Das Rheingold,
the descent into Nibelheim."
Was it that bad?
Try to imagine that
in one fell swoop,
you lost all desire to read
and all your love and passion
for books and letters.
I don't even know if
I can imagine that.
This is nothing less
than Zeno's paradox.
You are Achilles
and the tortoise is the orgasm.
Oh, come on.
Because you were giving chase,
you couldn't reach satisfaction.
That's the paradox.
I'm sorry, but it seems as if you're
not taking this very seriously.
I'm telling you about the worst
thing that's happened to me,
that I, at that point
within seconds,
lost all sexual sensation.
My cunt simply went numb!
And immediately we have to hear
about this ridiculous
mathematical problem.
In fact, I'm in doubt whether
you're even listening.
Why do you doubt that?
Whenever I've told other
men about experiences,
episodes in my sex life,
it was easy to see that
they became quite excited.
I got excited.
Yes, about the mathematical crap,
not about the story.
What kind of a person
are you actually?
I...
You wouldn't know.
No, but I can guess.
Why didn't I get that earlier?
The fact you don't get
excited over my dirty stories
is because you can't
relate to them.
You've never been with a woman.
That's quite accurate.
Not with a man either.
Are you sorry about that?
Well yeah, but...
Out of curiosity.
Not out of lust,
as you would think.
I consider myself...
Asexual.
Of course I...
Experimented
with masturbation when
I was a teenager, but...
It didn't do much for me.
So there's nothing sexual about me.
It's not as uncommon
as you would think.
And of course I've...
I've read a lot about
sexual subjects:
"Canterbury tales," "Decameron,"
"thousand and one nights."
You name it
and I've read it with great
interest and enjoyment...
But only literary enjoyment.
But I... but I think
maybe it makes me
a better listener to your story.
I have no preconceived
notions or...
Or preferences.
I'm actually the best judge
you could give your story to.
And when it comes to
deciding whether you're
a bad human being or not, I'm...
I have no problems with that.
Because I don't look at
you through the glasses
colored by sexuality
or sexual experience.
I'm a virgin.
I'm innocent.
She's looking at me.
Yes.
It's an icon.
Is it Russian?
Yes, it's...
It's a skilled copy,
maybe in the manner of Rublev.
Icons are usually connected
to the eastern church.
The eastern church?
I might become a bit theoretical.
You may.
I'd like you to tell
me about your picture.
Although the Christian church
was split up in 1054 because
of differences in opinion
between the eastern church
and the western church...
What we today call
the orthodox church
and the roman catholic church.
This is a typical
eastern church icon.
And it usually depicts
the Virgin Mary
and the infant Jesus,
and more rarely,
for instance, the crucifixion,
which in the western church
was much more prevalent.
If you generalize,
you could say that
the western church is the
church of suffering,
and the eastern church is
the church of happiness.
If you imagine a mental
journey from Rome eastward,
you feel how you move away
from guilt and pain
towards joy and light.
But you say you didn't
believe in God.
No, but the concept of
religion is interesting...
Like the concept of sex.
But you won't find me on my knees
with the regards to either.
Let's call this chapter,
um, "the eastern church
and the western church."
But it won't be...
It won't be a story
about traveling east from Rome
towards the light, but
rather the opposite.
So in order not to make it too sad,
I've pepped up the name of the
chapter with an extra title.
In spite of my tireless efforts,
my cunt totally failed to respond.
I have to admit there came a time
when we had fun together.
I'll give you a fiver...
Uh-huh.
If you can put this
up inside your cunt.
A fiver?
Right.
Shit.
Thank you.
You're welcome.
- Didn't get any spoons?
- No, we didn't.
The most grotesque thing was
that it was during that period
where every sexual
sensation was denied me...
A period, I must admit,
of secure and restful
domestic comfort...
We had moved in
together and so on...
That I became pregnant,
because I was careless about
my birth control pills.
Consciously or unconsciously,
it was important for
me to have a cesarean.
I mean, I was hoping that my cunt
was going to fucking work again,
and I had a feeling that
a haphazard birth wouldn't
make things better.
I may have been imagining things,
but as I lay there the
noise from the instruments
rang out in a chord like
the one from the little flock.
Yes.
And it wasn't fear.
More like a kind of disgust.
I could've sworn
I saw him laughing.
A laughing son?
In "Doctor Faustus," Thomas Mann
describes the birth of Noah's son Ham,
who was laughing when he was born.
Another satanic omen.
Incidentally, the innocent
child was named Marcel,
after Mars, the roman God of war.
And motherhood?
I assume maternal love
didn't quite live up
to its expectations.
No, I didn't have any expectations.
And maternal love wasn't a problem.
It was just that each time
I looked into the child's eyes,
I had this unsettling feeling
of having been found out.
I know it's probably
a strange thing
to say about a child...
That my love wasn't
being returned...
But it was my perception.
If Jerome had hoped for a break
from what was for him now
mostly strenuous work,
he could forget about it.
Fill all my holes.
I can't, Joe.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
Can we talk about it?
Of course.
I love you, I love your
wildness and your desire.
At the moment I don't seem to satisfy
you in the way that I'd like to.
Don't get upset, Joe. It doesn't mean
we won't continue with our sex life,
which is very important to me.
Very important to me.
Mmm, when you buy a tiger,
right?
You also have to feed it.
Um, satisfy it,
right?
Long story short:
I have a tiger on my hands.
- You mean I'm too much for you.
- No.
You're just the way you should be.
I was just thinking
if you would consider
that I get a little help with
the feeding, that's all.
You're saying I should have
sex with others as well.
That's a rather cruel way
of putting it, Joe, but...
- But exact.
- ...Exact.
For a long time I'd
been playing around
with the idea that the concept
of the fuck-me-now clothes
could be improved...
You look nice.
And became the piano teacher.
You okay?
No.
What's the matter?
Well, I'm such an idiot with cars.
I don't really know what to do.
Do you mind helping me?
Well, of course it won't work.
Sparkplug caps have been removed.
Yes, I did that.
Was that wrong?
For the first time I had
the pleasure of having
an 8-cylinder car.
The possible combinations
of eight spark-plug caps
on eight spark plugs are 40,320,
if I remembered my math correctly.
And only one of these
will make the car run,
which gave me all
the time I needed.
Beethoven, huh?
He was certainly very
good, but, you know,
- ...he couldn't write a fugue.
- You think so?
Well...
Yeah, I think so.
It would be more precise
to say that Beethoven
renewed the fugue...
But he was such a visionary
that the old Bach purists,
they accused him of
not mastering it.
Good day?
And now to reach the heart
of your suffering western church,
I have to jump ahead
three years in the story
and talk about my meeting
with what I would call
"the dangerous men."
I was alone with Marcel a
lot during this period,
as Jerome was traveling
most of the time.
And when he was finally home,
he spent most of the time accusing
me of neglecting Marcel,
which in my opinion
was just a cover for his
anger over my lovers.
Any sexual satisfaction,
let alone orgasm,
was further away than ever before.
I had to make a change.
And somehow the inspiration
had been right there
beneath my window the whole time.
I could feel that it
turned me on enormously
to imagine a sexual situation
in which verbal communication
was impossible.
- Hello.
- Hello.
I'm Tobias, the interpreter.
Hello, I'm Joe.
Come in.
I understand that you master
the African languages.
I do have a basis.
Who and what needs interpretation?
Um, that man...
The one with the green jacket?
You are to ask him if he
wants to have sex with me.
Yeah? Um...
Is it a go?
It's hard to say.
I've written down the
time and the place,
but, um...
Honestly I wouldn't like
to take responsibility
for the precise
wording in this case,
which I think, uh,
accidentally may belong
to a grey zone in my profession.
It was the address
of a cheap hotel.
Why were there two?
My words exactly.
Apparently N had brought
his brother along.
Very sorry.
Sorry sorry sorry.
Why was he so angry?
Clearly it was something
personal between them,
but later I heard that
performing a sandwich
requires great sensitivity,
since the men apparently can feel
each other through the tissue.
I imagine the quarrel
had already started
on the stairs and that
one or the other party
had laid claim to one or
the other of my holes
in conflict with his negro
brother's interests.
You shouldn't use that word.
It's not what you call
politically correct...
- "Negro."
- Well, excuse me,
but in my circles
it's always been a mark of
honor to call a spade a spade.
Each time a word
becomes prohibited,
you remove a stone from the
democratic foundation.
Society demonstrates its impotence
in the face of a concrete problem
by removing words
from the language.
I think society would claim that...
That politically correctness
is a very precise expression
of democratic concern
for minorities.
And I say that society
is as cowardly as the people in it,
who in my opinion are also
too stupid for democracy.
I understand your point,
but I totally disagree.
I have no doubt in
the human qualities.
The human qualities
can be expressed in one word:
Hypocrisy.
We elevate those who say
"right" but mean "wrong"
and mock those who
say "wrong" but mean "right."
By the way, I can assure you
that women who claim that
negros don't turn them on,
- ...they're lying.
- So did they satisfy you?
Those ne-negros?
No.
But they showed me
that there was a world
far from mine I had to explore.
And there, or perhaps
on the other side,
get my life back.
Who are you?
I know what you do.
I'd like to be
one of the women you see.
That's of no interest.
Madame.
Princess,
I specifically said five days,
and five days haven't gone yet.
So...
You'll have to leave.
I'm sorry.
I, um...
I don't think this is for you.
How mysterious.
Will you give me a
reasonable explanation now
or shall we wait?
I can't give you an explanation,
and certainly not a reasonable...
What exactly were the
rumors about him?
That he was violent.
How can that be inciting?
I think the easiest
way to understand it
is to refer to my
rebellious nature.
This business of K's was
something I was completely against.
So the fact that I was
now contacting him was
a last, desperate attempt
to rehabilitate my sexuality.
The system was the
overriding factor with K.
A system of violence?
Well, you were the one
who insisted on the
western church, right?
And I...
I seem to remember
that the systematic approach
to the crucifixion is of a violent
and not to say sadistic nature.
Oh yes, the passion of Christ
is full of systematic violence...
The Via Dolorosa,
the nine stations of the cross
and the 39 lashes.
You are beginning to irritate me.
Stand up.
I just want you to sit
completely relaxed...
While I hit you in the face.
Nothing special.
It's just a...
It's just a slap.
Are you ready?
Let me tell you the rules then.
The first rule is
that I don't fuck you
and that there isn't any
discussions about that.
Then what do you get out of it?
That's my business
and I don't want you
to mention it again.
The second rule is that
we have no safe word.
Meaning that if you,
uh, go inside with me,
there is nothing that you can say
that will make me stop
any plan or procedure.
You must bring a brown
used leather riding crop.
And not one from a
shop selling sex toys.
It's not a masquerade.
Third rule:
If I choose to let you in,
you have to be sitting out here.
In other words, you...
You won't know when.
Only that it will be
sometime between...
2:00 and 6:00 at night.
I can't stay here that late.
My babysitter's not reliable and...
I can't leave my child.
You don't even know my name!
I'm not interested in your name.
Here your name is...
Fido.
Marcel's awake.
D'you want to say
goodbye to your mom?
Goodbye.
I'll take your coat.
I'd like you to have your hair up.
You can use this.
Just in case it becomes
necessary for me
to hit you in the face.
Should I take my clothes off?
I'll tell you what to do...
And when.
Now you may bend down.
How?
Approach the chair.
Now bend from the hips.
Look forward.
Look forward.
With your head up.
Head up.
Keep looking forward.
Keep looking forward.
You may stand up.
We have to use the couch.
Come this way.
Take it easy, take it easy.
Bend over.
Lay your arms out straight.
Take it easy.
Take it easy.
Take it easy.
Next time don't wear knickers.
Your ass is not high enough.
I don't think we can do this today.
What?
I'd like to see you
again on Thursday.
What's wrong?
I think we should see how
it goes on Thursday.
Hi, I can't come to
the phone right now.
Please leave a message.
Yes, this is Marcel's mother again.
Uh, it's now 1:30.
We had an agreement.
I hope you get this message
and come as quickly as you can.
Uh, Marcel is sleeping.
Um...
I have to go now.
Better.
Also so much better.
So much better.
I am now going to hit you 12 times
no matter how much you scream...
'Cause no one can
hear you down here.
That's, uh...
That's not how it goes.
Most people don't scream
until I hit them.
Oh!
That's it.
Thank you.
You're very welcome.
I don't know where we
get our sexuality from
or where tendencies of
this kind come from.
Probably a perversion
created in our childhood
that never manifested
itself before.
Well, oddly enough,
Freud says the opposite.
He talks about the polymorphic
perversion of a child.
Meaning that in a child,
all kinds of perversions exist.
And then we use the childhood
to diminish or remove some of them.
Basically a child is
sexually polymorphic
and everything is
sexuality in an infant.
And yet it was deeply bizarre
to lie there
and especially to
want to lie there.
It is an interesting point
that you actually lubricated
in expectation for a pain
that you hadn't experienced.
Your body prepared itself
for an intercourse that
you knew wouldn't happen.
I can only describe
the mood as sexual.
As I twisted and turned
while he was whipping me,
I could feel how
clever his knots were.
If I fought them, they
would get tighter,
and as I relaxed,
it seemed they did too.
I don't know what kind of knot
K used...
But I know of a knot
that tightens when force is exerted
and vice versa.
It's called a Prusik knot.
It's after a man called Prusik.
He was a mountain climber.
And he and a friend
were out climbing
and they had an accident
and his friend died.
And he ended up hanging
at the end of a rope
with no possibility of getting up.
You know, you can't climb up
a mountain-climber rope.
It's too thin.
But he was an intelligent man,
and with his back to the
wall he was a genius.
And he took the shoelaces
out of his boots
and made two loops and
affixed them to the rope.
And he could move these up
when they weren't under tension.
And then he could step into them
and climb the rope
and save himself.
Prusik.
I think this was one of
your weakest digressions.
May I continue?
Well, be my guest.
I sometimes give a
Christmas present.
But, uh, you have to
do the work yourself.
This is called a blood knot.
You have to make nine ropes
with three blood knots on each.
Let me see you do it.
You decide whether to make four,
five or six turns
in the various knots.
Joe?
Hello.
Marcel?
Marcel!
Are you fond of me still?
- Yes.
- More fond of me than the others?
- Yes?
- Yes.
You're not thinking of
leaving again tonight, are you?
- No.
- No?
- No no. Not at all.
- Are you sure?
Yeah.
Are you lying to me, Joe?
- No.
- Be honest.
It's all right.
Just fucking say it.
No, I... I just want to be here.
Why?
I don't know.
If you leave tonight...
You'll never see me or Marcel
ever again in your life.
Do you understand?
Is this goodbye?
Is that what you're saying?
Marcel, get up.
- Stop it.
- Is that what you want?
Here, so you could see him.
Look at him, Joe.
Let's face it, Joe,
you're not a mother.
Let's wake him up.
Marcel, baby boy,
say, "bye, Mom."
- Please put him back.
- Is this what you want?
Hmm?
- Ma.
- You see?
You see, he wants you.
Come.
It's Christmas.
It's fucking Christmas.
What is this?
Today it's madame who must wait.
Madame, I'm very sorry,
but I have to have a few
words with Fido first.
I really ought to send you home.
Happy Christmas, Fido.
I want your cock.
What did you say?
I want your cock.
No. No, you don't.
No, you don't. No.
What's the matter with you today?
On account of the holidays
and your behavior today,
I'm going to give you the
original roman maximum
of 40 lashes.
Are you ready, Fido?
I'm ready.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
I'd seen through K's
knot technique,
so I was able to loosen my
position a bit to move my pelvis,
and thereby stimulate my clitoris
against the cover of the book.
And when you came home,
Jerome and the child were gone?
I haven't seen Marcel since.
The sentimentality of...
I hate it.
Why?
Because it's a lie.
Are you sure?
Jerome understood that
he couldn't prioritize
his life according
to a child either.
So he put him in a foster home.
My only contact to the boy
is the thousand pounds
I put in his account every month.
Anonymously.
As a penance.
After all this
sadness, may I ask...
What happened to the silent duck?
Oh shit.
The silent duck.
I'd forgotten all about it.
One night K had been
in what was for him
an unusually good mood.
I don't know what caused
it, but he didn't hit hard
and he joked that he
would introduce me
to the concept of the silent duck.
One hardly dare imagine
"the quacking duck."
Oh.
Well, deep down, little
K seems to have been
a jolly man with versatile talents.
But he got that bit about
roman punishment and
the 40 lashes wrong.
Because it's true that the highest
punishment was 40 lashes,
but it had to be delivered
in series of three.
That's why Jesus
only got 39 lashes,
because three goes into 39
but not into 40.
You have a mirror.
Yes.
It's like a thought, isn't it?
Are you ready for another chapter?
Go on.
Some years later, the bodily abuse
began to have an effect.
First, rare bleedings
from my clitoris,
but then they became
more and more frequent.
Come in.
Have you heard any of the
rumors about yourself?
They say you see men every evening.
And spend all night with them.
They say you can't be trusted...
all of them.
Why do they say that?
I suppose they're afraid that I...
I can't keep away from their men.
Right.
- And can you?
- No.
I've spoken with a psychologist.
He says you're addicted,
but that it's not
the kind of addiction
that can't be treated.
They have some groups.
I know about these kinds of groups.
I don't have anything to
say to a psychologist.
I'm not suggesting therapy.
I'm demanding it.
Even if you leave us, it'll
be the same at your next job
and the one after that.
My name is Joe...
Hi, Joe.
And I'm a nymphomaniac.
Sex addict.
My name is Joe and
I'm a nymphomaniac.
We say sex addict.
Here everyone's the same.
You should only speak when
you feel you have to.
What you're saying is that
no one can remove their sexuality
even though it's destroying
everything for them.
I wouldn't say no one.
But let's say, at most,
one in a million
manage to live a life
without sexuality.
But you can't be
basing your therapy
- ...on that one in a million.
- No.
The first and most important step
is to remove incentive
and to reduce exposure.
You have to ask yourself what
kind of incentives you have
and then make it difficult for yourself
to come into contact with them.
Basically anything that
makes you think about sex.
Joe has something
she'd like to share.
My name is Joe...
Hi, Joe.
And I'm a sex addict,
but I haven't had sex for
three weeks and five days.
Tell us how you did it, Joe.
- You brought notes?
- Yes.
"Dear everyone,
don't think it's been easy,
but I understand now
that we are all alike."
Are you okay, Joe?
Yes yes.
Would you like a glass of water?
Thank you.
Would you rather
share another time?
No, I'd like to speak.
Dear everyone,
don't think it's been easy,
but I understand now
that we're not
and never will be alike.
I'm not like you,
who fucks to be validated
and might just as well give
up putting cocks inside you.
And I'm not like you.
All you want is to be filled up, and
whether it's by a man or by tons
of disgusting slop
makes no difference.
And I'm definitely not like you.
That empathy you claim
is a lie,
because all you are is
society's morality police,
whose duty is to erase my obscenity
from the surface of the earth
so that the bourgeoisie
won't feel sick.
I'm not like you.
I am a nymphomaniac,
and I love myself for being one.
But above all,
I love my cunt
and my filthy, dirty lust.
Watch out
you might get what you're after
cool, babies
strange, but not a stranger
I'm an ordinary guy
burning down the house!
What just happened?
I didn't get that...
With the car that burned.
No, I'm sorry.
I was just in too much of a hurry
to get to the last chapter.
I understood that society
had no room for me,
and I had no room for society
and never had.
I'm sure it was quite
natural for you
to furnish your room
as a monk's cell,
but as an inspiration for
the story chapter headings,
it hasn't been easy.
There's simply nothing
left for me to use.
Well, I'm sorry about that.
But if I may, I can give you a tip.
Yes, please.
You know, I occupy
myself mostly with text,
but sometimes the
text can seem so...
So empty, so unfathomably empty.
It could be the best text
by the most famous author.
The solution might be to
change your point of view.
I-I don't get that.
Things hide...
When they become familiar.
But if you look at them
from another angle,
they might take on a new meaning.
You're right.
Before this was just
the stain from the tea I threw.
Can you see what it could be?
A revolver.
No, a revolver has a
drum that revolves.
It's a pistol.
Can you see what kind it could be?
No, I don't remember
anything like that
from my literature.
Oh, but it's something I
can remember from mine.
Ian Fleming.
Not familiar.
If you haven't read that, you
haven't read anything at all.
This could be, with a
little imagination,
a Walther P.P.K. Automatic,
the same gun that
was issued to bond
after his preferred pistol,
the Beretta, had jammed.
Is that something you can use?
Oh yes, it is.
Burning down the house!
Hold tight
wait till the party's over
hold tight...
Whether I left society,
or it left me, I cannot say.
I suppose you could make an
argument for both sides.
Burning down the house!
I was on my way to the shady side
of the debt-collecting business,
which among other
things involved stuff
like burning people's cars.
I had for a long time
known about this man, L.
Hi, my name is Joe.
I know that.
Come in.
I'm looking for a job.
I've been working in an office,
and I was never really good at it.
I can understand that.
I mean,
what's the point?
I believe I possess
some qualifications
and that I'm rather unscrupulous.
I know all about
your qualifications
and they're excellent.
I would suggest
that you start your
own little business
with my help.
I understand
you possess a great deal of insight
about a rather broad
spectrum of men.
This could be... or should
be capitalized on.
I need sub-contractors who can put
moderate pressure on individuals
with whom my clients
rightly or wrongly
have a bone to pick.
Understand?
Extortion.
No.
No no no no.
I always prefer the term
"debt collection."
- Yeah.
- I refrain from judging
whether my clients' wishes
are legitimate or otherwise.
A point of view
I strongly recommend you follow.
My main qualification of course
was my considerable
experience with men and sex.
But even my more specialized
skills came in handy.
No, now this is not how it goes.
You have to wait until you're hit.
The two helpers that L had
recommended were okay,
but they were predisposed to a
rather repetitive technique,
which consisted of creating
as much havoc as possible
with a pair of iron bars.
Destroying your things doesn't
seem to have much effect on you.
Here was a man
I was unable to read sexually,
so I became persistent.
Tie him to the chair.
Don't hurt him.
I can't find a stain on you,
but my experience tells me
that no man is spotless.
Luckily, you're equipped
with a very reliable
truth-detector.
I'm going to tell
you a few stories.
All you have to do is listen.
You're in a bar
watching a couple...
I now meticulously went
through the catalog
of sexual deviations
in fictional form.
Stories about sadomasochism,
fetishism, homosexuality,
you name it.
But he didn't react.
And I'd almost given up
on your way home, you
walk through the park.
And something makes you stop.
You hear something.
Yes, that's it.
You can hear the children
on the playground.
You sit on a bench nearby
and watch them play.
There's a little boy in shorts.
He's playing in the sandpit.
He looks at you
with his blue eyes.
He smiles at you.
I think he comes to you.
He sits on your lap
and looks up at your face.
He says
he'd like to come home with you.
At home you can't fight the idea
of being naked together.
He crawls all over you.
- You get an erection.
- Won't you please stop?
He lies on his stomach.
You pull down his pants.
I'll pay!
You did what?
I gave him a blowjob.
Why?
That pig?!
- I took pity on him.
- Pity?
Yes.
I had just destroyed his life.
Nobody knew his secret,
most probably not even himself.
He sat there with the shame.
I suppose I sucked him off
as a kind of apology.
That's unbelievable.
No, listen to me.
This is a man
who'd succeeded in
repressing his own desire,
who had never before given into it
right up until I forced it out.
He had lived a life full of denial
and had never hurt a soul.
I think that's laudable.
No matter how hard I try,
I can't find anything
laudable in pedophilia.
That's because you think about
the perhaps 5% who
actually hurt children.
The remaining 95%
never live out their fantasies.
Think about their suffering.
Sexuality is the strongest force
in human beings.
To be born with a
forbidden sexuality
must be agonizing.
The pedophile who manages
to get through life
with the shame of his desire
while never acting on it
deserves a bloody medal.
But there was another
reason for my sympathy,
which you find so mysterious.
I saw a man who was carrying
the same cross as myself.
Loneliness.
We were both sexual outcasts.
In any case, some years passed,
during which my business grew,
enabling me to step up
my anonymous deposits
to Marcel.
Your business is doing great...
You complete all the jobs
I give you to perfection
and I hear only words of praise
from your other clients.
But...
- But what?
- ...We aren't getting any younger.
Oh.
No, that's for sure.
I think you're getting to that age
where you have to start
thinking about a successor.
Ohhh.
- I don't need a fucking successor.
- Listen.
A person should take
their crime seriously.
You need someone
to be your right hand,
someone to help you.
A crown princess.
The normal process
is to find out what colleagues
are in prison or are drug addicts,
and thereby unable to fulfill
their roles as parents.
Then you find out where
their kids play football...
And you get involved.
You cheer them on for
a couple of years
no matter how bad they are.
Actually, the worse, the better.
That way
gradually you take on
the role of the parent
until in the end
you have a loyal helper that
will walk through fire for you.
Even do time for you.
It sounds like a...
Kind of an entrapment
you're suggesting.
- An unsavory entrapment.
- Call it what you want,
but if you believe at all
in the effects of good parenting,
that kid will have much
greater opportunities
with you as a mentor than without.
And since I like you,
I've been looking around
for a suitable subject.
She's 15 years old
from a family of
hardened criminals,
and she's been through a lot.
Last couple of years she's
been institutionalized.
Her father is in prison and her
mother died of an overdose.
She's a smart girl.
And although she
doesn't play football,
she does play basketball...
Very badly.
She's chosen a team sport
because she's lonely.
Her right ear is
slightly deformed...
Which she's very ashamed of,
and of course this serves
to isolate her even more.
It makes her an easy target
for even the slightest
bit of attention
or sign of empathy from you.
Despite my protests,
the clever L somehow talked me
into actually having a look at P.
The longer I watched the poor
girl with the deformed ear,
the more repulsive I
found the whole plan.
But as if L had foreseen this,
the meeting with P filled
me with pity and emotion.
And without wanting to,
I found myself,
weekend after weekend,
at her games supporting
the poor player.
Thanks for cheering me on.
You're welcome.
You played really well today.
- No, I didn't.
- You did.
You really improved
yourself lately.
I was proud to introduce P
to my father's passion...
And to his world.
It's actually...
The souls of the trees
that we see in the winter.
I think they look like human souls.
You're right.
They do look like human souls.
Twisted souls,
regular souls, crazy souls.
All depending on the kind
of lives human beings lead.
I found my tree,
my soul tree.
This is my tree.
It's not an ash tree.
No, it's an oak tree.
My father found his soul tree,
but I've...
I've never found mine.
"You will know it when you see it,"
that's what he said.
When P reached the age of majority
and I became her personal advisor,
I asked her to move in with me.
I've never seen you
with your hair up.
It's so pretty.
All this time all my sexual
activity had stopped.
My groin was one big
sore from my abuse
that wouldn't heal
and made even
masturbation impossible.
I experienced definite
abstinence symptoms:
Fever and cramps.
Joe, what's going on?
- Careful.
- We need to clear this up.
I just get this sometimes.
It's okay, it's okay.
Perhaps she really loved you.
I couldn't accept it.
Perhaps because you really
wanted it to be true.
Perhaps I hoped it.
It's very touching,
all this about P.
Then you've probably
misunderstood the whole thing.
Don't.
I wanna see you.
- Don't.
- Why?
- Please don't.
- Why not?
No.
No, I have a wound.
- I have a wound.
- It doesn't matter.
No, you don't understand.
I have that thing with my ear.
I'm so ashamed.
D'you like me?
You're so beautiful.
There's one thing
I don't understand.
Did she know what you
did for a living?
P was very discreet
and a girl of few words.
Oddly, although
I worked strange hours,
she never asked about my work.
But one day she had a question.
Joe?
Why did you start coming
to my basketball matches?
It wasn't a coincidence, was it?
No, it wasn't a coincidence.
I didn't tell you because I...
I thought you'd be upset...
And that you'd get angry at me.
I won't get angry.
What I do...
My job isn't a normal job.
It's not legal.
No one in my family
does anything legal.
A man that's helped
me in my business
suggested that I watched you.
The plan was that I...
I should look at you
to see whether one day
I could use you in my work.
I should make friends with you,
because I knew you didn't
have a mother or a father.
What's wrong with that?
Don't you see how
evil that plan was?
I felt terrible.
You shouldn't have.
Why not?
Because if you hadn't...
We'd never have met.
I'd like to go with you to work
- ...next time.
- No.
Will you think about it?
- No.
- Yes.
No.
She didn't take no for an answer.
No, of course not.
How do you keep a
wave upon the sand?
With the risk of being
too clever for myself,
social inheritance
is an irrefutable fact.
If anyone knew about
the laws of the street,
it must've been P.
You're more right than you know.
Let's shoot the fucker.
Stop! Stop!
We don't use firearms.
- I'd like to have the gun.
- The others have weapons too.
Well, I didn't know that.
But in any case,
you're not to have one.
But guns aren't dangerous.
It depends on how you use them.
Yes, exactly.
I wasn't going to shoot him.
We wouldn't have gotten any
money out of him that way.
Can I have the gun?
Thank you.
You're evil.
And now I'm afraid one
of those coincidences
you have such a hard time with
occurred with a
very special person.
It was P's job to take
us to the debtors,
so until I saw the
name on the door,
I had no idea whose
house we were at.
Are you sure this
is the right place?
Yeah.
I was thinking maybe it's time
for you to do this one on your own.
Yeah?
Thank you, Joe.
I don't want anything destroyed
and I don't want anybody hurt.
Okay?
You just show yourself
and offer him a
reasonable payment plan.
If you say so.
Of course that's how I'll do it.
Whether the feeling
when I saw Jerome again
was love, I couldn't say.
But it was a feeling,
and far stronger than I liked.
I was actually walking home
through the alley here.
No two neighborhoods
are totally different
but still so close together
that the shortest route
from Jerome's house
towards the center was
through the alley.
Hello!
How did it go?
Brilliant.
Yeah, really well.
I made a reasonable payment
plan like you told me to.
How did he look?
Scared.
How old did he look?
I dunno.
Ancient?
Jerome was to pay off his
debt in six payments.
Every time P went to
Jerome to collect,
I paced around restlessly
until she was back home again.
I even had to find my mother's
sad old solitaire cards
in order to make the hours pass.
Each night I was less
reassured by her coming home
than the night before.
The question of whether
jealousy is the fear of sharing
or the fear of losing was
of little interest to me.
But yes, it was a fact
that this unworthy feeling I had
managed to suppress for so long
was creeping up on me.
The evening she was to
collect the final payment
she didn't kiss me.
I took it to be forgetfulness,
but the hours passed
and she didn't return.
Every time I saw car lights,
I thought it was P
being driven home.
I had decided to flee.
I couldn't stay in this
town with her and him.
I had cowardly made a plan
to escape and head south,
like from some ice age
I didn't have the guts
to turn around and face.
But the goodbye was sad and
strangely unfulfilling.
And something called me on
to seek further up the Mountain.
It's said to be difficult
to take someone's life.
I would've said that it's
more difficult not to.
For a human being,
killing is the most natural
thing in the world.
We're created for it.
Wonderful.
No, get off!
Sorry.
Fireman's grip.
Oh. Oh yeah.
Fill all my holes please.
I still don't know why
the gun didn't work.
I did check to make sure
that there were bullets
in the magazine.
It simply malfunctioned,
just like bond's Beretta.
I think I know enough to say that
even if you had rounds in the
magazine of the Walther P.P.K.,
and you'd taken off the safety...
You cannot shoot until
you rack the gun.
You pull and release
the sliding mechanism.
And P hadn't done it
because, as she said,
she had no intention
of shooting the man.
I don't know about bond, but I
assume it has to be apparent
from his books and his films that
you have to rack an
automatic pistol.
Of course, you're right.
I've seen it in films
a thousand times.
It's morning.
And the snow is gone.
So the sun must be out?
Yes, there is sun.
I've never managed to figure
out where it comes from.
It must be some interplay
between windows
and towers and high buildings.
It's not much,
but it's the sun you
get here at my place.
It's beautiful.
In the beginning you said that
your only sin was that you
asked more of the sunset.
Meaning, I suppose, that you wanted
more from life than
was good for you.
You were a human being
demanding your right.
And more than that,
you were a woman
demanding her right.
Does that pardon everything?
Do you think if two men
would've walked down a
train looking for women,
do you think anybody would
have raised an eyebrow?
Or if a man had led
the life you had?
And the story about Mrs. H
would've been extremely
banal if you'd been a man
and your conquest would
have been a woman.
When a man leaves his children
because of desire,
we accept it with a shrug,
but you as a woman,
you had to take on a...
A guilt, a burden of guilt
that could never be alleviated.
And all in all, all
the blame and guilt
that piled up over the years
became too much for you,
you reacted aggressively...
almost like a man I have to say...
And you fought back.
You fought back against
the gender that had been
oppressing and mutilating
and killing you and
billions of women.
But I wanted to kill a human being.
But you didn't.
Because of a chance event.
You call it a chance event.
I call it subconscious resistance.
On the surface you wanted to kill,
but deep down you
celebrated human worth
and a veil of forgetfulness
draped itself over your
knowledge of how to rack a gun.
Although all this sounds frighteningly
close to the cliches of our times...
And I'm predisposed
to knock holes in your arguments...
I'm too tired.
Well, that's good.
Why don't you lay down?
Yes.
Let me just say that
telling my story
as you insisted...
Or permitted...
Has put me at ease.
At this moment
my addiction is very clear to me...
And I've come to a decision.
Even though only one in a million,
as my dubious therapist said,
succeed in...
Mentally, bodily...
And in her heart
of ridding herself
of her sexuality,
this is now my goal.
But is that a life worth living?
It's the only way I can live it.
I will stand up against all odds...
Just like a deformed
tree on a hill.
I will muster
all my stubbornness...
My strength...
My masculine aggression.
But most of all I
want to say thanks
to my new, and maybe first friend.
Thank you, Seligman...
Who perhaps is happy when
all is said and done.
I'm happy at any rate
that the shot didn't go off
and made me a murderer.
If I may, I'd like to sleep now.
I'll make sure you
won't be disturbed.
Good night, Joe.
Good night, Seligman.
No!
But you... you've fucked
thousands of men.
Hey, Joe
where are you going
with that gun in your hand?
Hey, Joe
I said where are you going
with that gun in your hand?
I'm going down to
shoot my old lady
you know I caught her messing
around with another man
I'm going down to
shoot my old lady
you know I caught her messing
around with another man
and that ain't too cool
hey, Joe
I heard you shot
your woman down
you shot her down now
hey, Joe
I heard you shot your lady down
you shot her down to the ground
yes, I did, I shot her
you know I caught her
messing around town
yes, I did, I shot her
you know I caught my old
lady messing around town
and I gave her the gun
I shot her
hey, Joe
where you gonna go to now?
Hey, Joe
where you gonna go to now?
I'm going way down south
way down to Mexico way
I'm going way down south
way down where I can be free
ain't no hangman gonna
he ain't gonna put
a rope around me
hey, Joe
you'd better run on down
good night
Category:Transcripts