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

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