Nymphomaniac: Vol. I

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 c*nt

as a two-year-old.

"C*nt" is a very strong word.

Let's call it

"Pandora's Box" then.

Um... No, no, no.

"C*nt" 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 b*tch."

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 f***ing 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

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