Nymphomaniac: Vol. I Page #8

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

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