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Can we begin?
Look at me, Paul. Make yourself taller.
And be rejective, tense.
The Torero deals with death, and fear... be rejective and tensed up.
Clara, lower your eyes, be a bit more subservient...
Well, not too much.
A little bit subservient, he is the man.
At "three" you look at me... everything only happens in your eyes...
At "three" you stand on tiptoe and focus on me.
three. Excellent.
Do you think, it doesn't matter to me?
Do you think, I like to see you unhappy like that?
I told you, it's always been like that.
With the others it lasted one week, then for the next 6 months nothing happened.
Is that true?
With you it went well for 3 months, at least.
We had it on our minds all the time. Day and night.
Now you're exaggerating.
It never went throughout the whole night.
We did it at least two times in a row.
I don't think so.
That's exactly the point.
Two times, I think that never happend.
Well anyways...
I can be unfaithful. You not.
You have no right to.
No stiff dick for me, none for others.
Have you already betrayed me? - No.
You're lucky, but I surely won't become a nun because of you.
I haven't been unfaithful, although I think I should have.
What's that supposed to mean?
Look into my eyes.
Have you betrayed me? - In no way.
That only shows, that I'm too stupid.
And that you probably don't deserve my faithfulness.
Do you know, why you're drinking?
For you can drop into bed like a piece of wood.
I believe, you only love me, when there's a table between us.
Ever since we got to know each other, we spent every evening together.
Every evening we have dinner together. And I never get bored.
You only love me, when there's a table between us.
Do you think it's normal: Spending the nights with a guy,
who doesn't even touch me?! You haven't since Aigues-Mortes!
We had that topic already. - You swore, you'd do something about it.
Just wait. - Till Judgement Day?
Just wait! And even if it takes another 3 months, you wait!
There's more to life than this!
What are you doing? Are you leaving?
It can't be that bad, can it?
No, it's terrible.
An invisible cover made of lead wraps around me.
As if I'd agreed to an unspoken prohibition.
At least take off your t-shirt.
I don't want to sleep next to a sack of cotton.
No, get undressed, come to bed.
Why don't you want to take it off?
You know, I can't bear it. As if it were directed against me.
Okay, I'll take it off. But not my underwear.
It keeps my balls warm.
It's nothing against you.
In the beginning I didn't think, we'd spend every night together.
Now, we do.
It's also my fault.
I don't know, I guess I said to myself...
You got other things on your mind, than seeing me all the time.
I thought, we wouldn't meet a fortnight, or a month at all, sometimes.
So that I could slip away from time to time.
No, not without hearing from you.
Not, when you're here in Paris too.
See, you have no confidence.
Okay, I leave...
If you want me to, I leave.
You will never see me again.
Do you see what you're like?
It's impossible to have a conversation with you.
Lie down.
Take this off.
I told you, it's nothing against you. I've always slept that way.
It is directed against me. It's because you hate me.
Stop it!
Didn't I tell you, not to try it that way?
You simply spoil everything and drag it out in the end.
You have a hard-on.
Stop it, or we're through.
But you could now. - I don't care, get it!?.
Damn it, be nice once. What hinders you?
If it didn't get hard, I'd probably understand.
It seems you decided not to sleep with me anymore, when I was about to...
I warn you, watch out! I might get the idea of killing myself.
I've never done that for any guy.
I never touched theirs, do you hear me? Never touched it like that!
Seems to be very important for you, if you're insisting on it like that.
Even if you don't want to or cannot, I just don't get why.
You could at least caress me.
If you don't feel desire, you could at least try to quench mine!
Women can come much more often than men, you know.
If I did that, I'd despise you.
I couldn't love you anymore.
You'd despise me, because I'm a woman.
You and loving me, you're joking!
I turn you off, I'm a horror for you.
There's nothing more ugly than me.
Stop it.
Let's sleep.
Why am I only able to love him or hate him?
Why can't I manage to be just indifferent?
Even if my thinking is all clear.
A man, who can't love me physically,
is a source of misery.
A bottomless pit of suffering.
They say, a man, who fucks a woman,
honours her.
One should listen to sayings, there's always some truth to them.
Paul dishonours me.
Am I disturbing you?
On the contrary.
Have you come here to relax, for the rest of the evening?
No, I come directly out of bed.
Or to be more precise, I just got dressed up.
I couldn't bear to sleep, so I got up again.
I don't care what time it is, I'm never tired.
I loathe people, who claim being tired, all the time.
Who talk nonsense all the time...
Most probably, it's because they're not passionate at all.
Say, do you live alone?
No, I'm married.
I told him, I was married.
So that he would know, I'm not free.
Because I am not free.
And he has to take the responsibility for the adultery.
He's asleep right now.
He doesn't mind sleeping.
However, he's got to get up early in the morning.
Tomorrow at noon, he has an appointment in Deauville. Business.
And you? Do you have a girlfriend?
She a car crash.
I haven't had sex in 4 months. (Yeah, right Rocco! ;) Liar!)
Maybe you men are all like that.
My husband is very nice, but he's just as indifferent.
I like foreplay the most.
It's so delightful.
I simply have to give in then.
It amazes me every time.
And I watch myself doing it, as if it wasn't me.
Frankly speaking, I could die of lust, at the sheer thought of
this indescribable miracle, happening again:
Being loved be a complete stranger.
It's a very childlike craving.
A pure craving.
Give me a blow-job.
No, not now.
This evening or maybe tomorrow.
Will you give me your number?
Don't you want to...? - Give head? Not really.
It not my specialty.
I don't like to start of with a blow-job.
I prefer to give head, to start again, if you know what I mean...
Going to the hotel...yes, that's what I yearn for.
But I have to leave, immediately.
Don't you want to go to a hotel? - I do, but I work.
Besides, I have to take back the car.
It's not mine, you know.
Will you call me?
Sorry, for being late.
It's okay. I already checked the attendance.
Take out your grammar-notebooks and write down todays date.
Last week we learned the present indicative of the verb "be".
I am, you are, he is,
we are, you are, they are.
Today we'll continue with "have".
"Having" is completely different from "being".
One can be, without having...
And one can have, without being.
What can I do to have him?
Completely have him.
I wish, you'd become pregnant.
Slim chance.
Why? There's no real reason why.
Exactly. Do you think the holy ghost, will do it?
There hasn't been an opportunity, ever since I stopped taking the pill.
I know you hate the details, but there are certain points in time.
You hardly ever do it, and when you do it, you're not willing to do your best,
...that way it'll never work. And that's what gets me down.
Yes, but that's not the same.
If you told me, "Do your job now!", I'd do it.
Is that true?
This would change everything.
If we had a child, we'd at least have a reason to stay together.
Only because you have no confidence.
But it will return.
Like the myth of Circe...
One wants to know, what was before, and what comes after...
You can't even let the present unfold...
You force it.
Because you have no confidence, everything comes to nothing.
What, if I went away?
And wouldn't call... let's say two weeks or a month?
Or even six?
Would a story like ours come to an end?
That depends.
If you went to the north pole, or into the desert maybe...
But telling yourself in a phone cell each day:
I won't call that silly cow.
And spending your time in all the bars just around the corner,
that's what I call a breach.
I speak of freedom, and you talk about bars?
These are statistics.
A man has to put the world in order, with his buddys in a bar sometimes.
Or he'll break.
And you know, that I don't deceive you.
It would be better if you deceived me, but fucked me too...
However, I can be unfaithful, you have no right to.
Have you already done it?
You speak about it so often.
But you deserve to believe otherwise.
Tomorrow evening, I'll have dinner with Ashley.
You can come, but you know what I'd prefer...
If I didn't come.
I'm well aware, that I should let him lead his own life.
All the time I cling to him like a leech.
Because I'm in love. Crazy about him.
What he calls "breathing"...
suffocates me.
I've never demanded to be free.
And I don't want him to be either.
I have an enormous claim to the absolute.
And I believe, that I'm right.
But as soon as I transfer it to real life,
an appaling schizophrenia arises in my head.
He dances...
to seduce.
He seduces, to conquer.
He wants to conquer, because he's a man.
What's got into you?!
Making a scene, because I dance with some girl?
That's not some girl... a tart, a whore.
So what? I don't care about her anyway.
You shouldn't have cared about her.
Anyway, I won't have someone elses baby.
Do I really have to pull it over?
I haven't had sex in 6 months now. I don't have AIDS.
Still, you're making progress.
You seem to like it.
You even come on strong.
You want me to watch you, doing it.
With the first, you did it secretly.
You think so? - Yes, I do.
And I didn't dare looking at it, because I don't like to look at dicks.
When they are used, I find them disgusting.
You're right, quite disgusting.
Like a tampon.
When you want to fuck, you have to take it out discretely and drop it under the bed...
Guys find everything disgusting.
And afterwards, you have to reuse it again.
I really like it, when it's disgusting.
Do you know why most guys don't want to use condoms?
Because their dicks don't get hard.
As they say...
Flexible as rubber.
I don't know, I don't sleep with guys.
But it's true. They become flabby all the time.
Because they...
are not driven by real desire.
Like in porn movies... the girls...
have their mouths full with those flabby things...
and blow, because they are not desirable.
I think, either a guy has to take you, without losing a word,
or at least, without boring you with his nonexistant desire.
A blow-job is quite good sometimes.
It's okay.
If a guy could fuck you and simply doesn't.
That's like the agonies of Tantalus.
Even I have to admit,
that I'm capable of feeling them then.
And feel even worse,
when he fucks you in the end.
And most men have dicks...
thin and pointed.
Like the dicks of dogs.
I hate that. Not only the length matters...
but also the whole structure.
A thin dick has no dignity.
Do you want me to fuck your ass?
No. Not yet.
I want to fuck again, I'm not satisfied yet.
My guy doesn't fuck me, you know.
How can you love a man, who doesn't fuck you?
I don't love those who fuck me, I hate them.
I don't want to see those who fuck me...
...don't look at them.
I just want to be a hole, a chasm.
The more gaping...
the more obscene...
the more it's me, my intimacy,
the more I step back.
It's metaphysical:
I disappear proportionally to the size of the dick, that allegedly takes me.
I get hollowed out.
This is my purity.
Do you like to be stroked on the back?
No, I don't like tenderness.
No intimate kisses on my lips either. That's unbearable to me.
You know, I don't care, who stuffs my cunt.
But kissing someone, I don't love...
That's too intimate.
But I did kiss Paolo, I simply felt like it.
When I kissed Paolo, every thought of Paul vanished.
Therefore I decided, not to see him again.
It's a question of integrity.
What are you doing?
Nothing. I have to go to work.
Do you like my dick?
Its smell. - You are disgusting.
I'm not. It smells good.
I like the fact, that it's not too big.
It fits well into my hand, and into my mouth.
Why do you like it?
'Cause it's mine.
I don't know...
It's like a bird.
I get the feeling, of holding a little bird in my hand.
See, if one moves it like that just a little,
one could get the impression, it's about to fly away.
But it doesn't. I find that touching.
Is it bad, that we don't go further?
I find it terrible, that I must not caress you.
It's like an incredible insult. - But you may, if you want to.
Just not to finish off.
Don't worry, I won't come either.
winter months.
got used to...
an ordinary life.
Full stop.
all of...
a sudden...
started shining...
Full stop.
had come!
Exclamation mark.
I know, that I make at least one mistake per syllable.
It's still a real mystery to me, how I could ever pass the examns.
Just like the driving test. I don't know how to park a car at all.
The latter is not as grave.
You can only say that, 'cause you're not behind me, when I park in second row.
It's because I'm a dysla...
Just like in mathematics. The calculations are always correct,
but I'll never learn the multiplication tables.
That's annoying.
It's nice in here...
The best things come in small packages...
Women like to discover things they've already seen on tv.
Currently japanese paravans are hot, so I have them.
Jakuzzis are in, so I have one.
30 square meters, but everything's here. It's a theatre...
The pedestal over there is a stage, I have rehearsals.
I'm a luxury tramp: Don't have anything, am not good-looking...
Nevertheless, I've had more than 10.000 women.
Why me?
Because you have to talk to them.
Nobody even bothers to talk to women anymore.
You talk to them, they listen to you...
They get so close to you.
And you put your hand, where it belongs.
Without foreplay. That's how it works.
Somebody has to make the first step, after all.
The only opportunity for love with women...
emerges from rape.
Women easily give themselves to the next best guy.
Even when they make the unfortunate one, who really loves them, suffer...
The one who'd sacrifice his life for them, who respects them.
That's how it works.
By the way, do they really want to be respected?
In a certain way... they do.
But it's the kind of respect, one shows for objects.
They are waiting to get into one's hands,
so they want to be taken.
I had 10.000 women and really can't remember all of them.
But I always wrote down names, age and circumstances.
Women's cunts...
None looks exactly like another. Just like the faces, that one remembers.
But take 10 men, cut off their dicks,
and put these in a basket. Not one of them will recognize his own.
I was once featured in a programme on France Culture.
They came to verify the evidence afterwards.
They did...
They counted them all.
Dr. Weil, psychiatrist and sexologist,
got to know a Casanova or Don Juan, a man who may be even more successful,
the Cavalieri of seduction...
Why does she say Cavalieri of seduction? How absurd.
I have never seduced. Not a single woman.
I know, that I'm not handsome.
I probably even am...
rather unpleasant.
But it's a fact,
I had 10.000 women. Several every day.
I was a seducer in the true meaning of "se aductere":
Taking something along. That's the true meaning of seduction.
"Se aductere":
Taking something with you.
We have verified, we have counted...
He keeps a record of his achievements.
I have something, that might be of interest to you.
I once bought it... I knew, one day I'd make you read it.
Here it is...
I want you, to read out loud one particular sentence for me.
Today, books should not be lend, women should read them out to us.
In that we can make sure, they actually read it.
I hate reading out.
Read that out. Women should read out to us.
While the MOTHER creates the SON, the SON creates the MOTHER.
His act creatively and entirely accompanies the whole process.
The creation of the MOTHER is her purification.
Purifying and being purified, uno acto.
And still, the whore of Babylon becomes transformed into a VIRGIN.
I become embarrassed near you. Why is that...?
Although it seems, you don't feel comfortable either.
No, I feel very well.
I don't know what you mean.
But yes... you act coy.
I behave, like I always do.
That enormous awkwardness...
I am, like I always am. stimulating.
It's a part of the game.
The slow blending of words into gestures is neccessary...
Otherwise we'd too hastily say: Hands off!
That's what it's all about:
A trivial contact...
a particularly bashful contact.
Why do the men, who disgust us, understand us much better
than those, who attract us und who we love?
What a shortcoming in orthography, exposed in front of the whole class,
but nevertheless, you want to teach.
an exposure...
You just can't believe, that my fingers are rubbing your pussy...
But it's really happening.
I'm not even aroused yet, but you're already wet.
'Cause you just can't believe, that it's me.
That's how it works.
Beautiful women like to be taken by ugly men.
Of course, nobody admits that.
There has to be a force of attraction.
And that attraction is not between a man and a woman... That would be too simple.
That attraction is between beauty and ugliness.
Beauty is nourished by disgracefulness, there's a friction between them.
And I am there, to profit from it.
That's how it works.
It's not my fault.
Do you want to serve me?
Open your eyes.
Should I gag you?
This requires, that one has to go further,
than a woman would normally accept, from a logical point of view.
Of course, this might lead to a situation she in fact cannot accept anymore.
But since one desires, what one doesn't accept...
is the clash of trivialty and divinity.
Women don't mind obscenity.
Is it too firm?
Remove it all...
I can't stand it any longer...
I wasn't aware...
You should have told me...
I thought, I could take it that far with you.
I can tie you up less tightly, you know.
Or... we could have sex the normal way.
It's okay...
It's me...
It's my own fault.
I've never been put in bonds before.
I've never done it.
Really? Never?
I always wanted it so much.
We'll do it again, and I won't make it that firm.
It's fine.
It's got to be this way.
Really? You enjoyed it too?
It was great for me. Really good.
But I want to please you, and when you cry...
I get the feeling, of having done something terrible.
No, it's fine.
you feel your hands going numb...
and you believe, that you can take it...
and suddenly, it becomes unbearable.
As if Death was coming...
A galloping Death.
You get the feeling, your hands are about to fall off...
an then gradually you slowly turn into carcass...
and then...
it's got to stop immediately, it must not last a second longer.
I got anxious, you wouldn't understand me, because of the gag.
That was driving me crazy...
But the gag was okay...?
Anyway, I don't like to talk about these things.
When I returned, Paul was not at home.
It was enough for making my world collapse.
That has nothing to do with what I've done.
Done is done. It's history now.
I keep a clear head.
That's the only thing I am capable of, anyway:
Existing in my own head.
I believe, my body does not belong to me...
It's an anonymous appendage.
And in my head... there's Paul.
He could have reconciled me with my body.
But he didn't want to.
Because, and that's the point...
because I didn't love my body, I was like a sitting duck.
A victim.
All in all...
women are the expiatory sacrifices of men.
I always masturbate with my legs crossed.
Only very rarely I spread them.
I can't even make my body a present to myself.
I rape myself.
Yet, the satisfaction I feel, is only superficial,
causing nausea
and the revengeful thought, that I'm able to achieve it without a man anyway.
It was agonizing, to readily rest on his bed.
Deposited in stock...
like an undeliverable parcel... unclaimed property...
And the more time passed, the less I could endure it.
I had to rush out into the street, like unclaimed property.
The etymological meaning of unclaimed property: It belongs to anyone.
The only thing that was persistently repeating, like a lousy equation:
If I've had been able to betray him,
even though he was the only one I loved,
wouldn't his unfaithfulness be insignificant anymore, either...
But he wasn't unfaithful. It was far worse:
He enjoyed being on his own.
Love between men and women...
one cannot stress it often enough, is a treacherous battle.
I win, if I come home the last.
I know it, hence the advantage is mine.
100 Francs, if I can eat your pussy.
That's what I dream of...
Being a cunt for some guy, who only wants to plug in...
Without faking an emotion...
Just out of crude desire.
Being taken by someone...
A pauper, a loser,
with which one tosses and turns, just out of fun in tossing and turning...
in the shame, in disrepute...
A childlike craving.
Bitch, turn 'round, I want to fuck you! - Pay me!
You have no choice!
I fucked you, whore!
I'm not ashamed! Bastard!
Does nymphomania mean, destroying yourself, because...
you choose the one...
who's not in love with you?
I have no desire, for sleeping with men.
I want to be open to the innermost part, and if someone sees,
that the mystery is just a mass of intestines, the woman's finally dead!
My most extreme desire is to meet Jack the Ripper.
Surely he'd open up a woman like me in next to no time.
And again I waited an hour, to come home the last.
If that doesn't prove, that women are capable of feeling stronger love than men...
Far stronger love...
He awaits me, too.
When I'm the last to come home, it's not that easy.
He's hitting the roof, my little boy.
I just came in. - So did I.
I can see that.
I also just came in.
Sure. You're not the dense type, who'd watch tv for two hours.
TV in the background: "A love" tells the story of an old man's passion
for a young prostitute.
I don't care, that he doesn't want to fuck me.
TV: "Probably because of his upbringing, since his early adolescence,
women always seemed like alien beings to him.
He had never felt as close to a woman as to his friends.
And still, a woman is something that's strange to him,
something superior..."
My cunt's swollen and wet, that way I'll put up with it to the end of time.
He won't degrade me this way.
It's simple:
If from now on he wants to spend an evening alone... my advantage.
I'll get into bondage.
He's to blame.
Do you want to serve me?
Do you want to tie me up? Today you can do whatever you want.
No... I don't want to do anything.
Do you like it, when I put you in chains?
Just not above the elbow.
Last time I couldn't use my hand for nearly 2 weeks.
And above the elbow I had a strange feeling for a month.
At your age! You got bad circulation.
One day in Cannes, I met Grace Kelly.
I didn't know her, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to approach her.
Anyway... She liked me, so we had a date at my place.
On time she rings the bell...
Blonde, perfect hair, tailored costume in dog's-tooth check...
The lucky dog was me...
I fuck her from five to seven, then she leaves, very satisfied.
The next day I see her, a friend of mine was with me,
and I tell him: I screwed that woman over there.
He says: You've fucked Grace Kelly?
I look at him, I don't understand...
True, I'm not handsome or rich or seductive,
but I have fucked her.
In spite of everything, I walk up to her,
we have a drink and I say:
Why haven't you said anything?
To which she replies: Would you have behaved the same, if I had?
Of course not. That's the whole point:
Nobody actually fucks the real Grace Kelly.
Too bad... it was good that way...
And that doesn't hurt?
It's a shame, I don't have two of them.
Never mind...
It works that way, too.
Now raise your bottom, will you,
I'll push up your skirt.
Like that...
I'll spread your legs, okay?
I think, you like it when I spread your legs.
I like that very much.
That's great.
And now I'll take this...
Help me.
This is great.
You're pretty that way.
Very, very pretty... I'll put in the gag.
I actually enjoyed it that much, I began, to get very attached to Robert.
Being attached without affection. The secret of his ceremonies.
Afterwards, I was never self-pitying, I was happy.
We went on a binge, allowed ourselves a great meal.
...He had no centime left...
...She tells him...
Do you want some more caviar?
More caviar?
Waiter, please!
And some more vodka!
I just love to booze.
However, I never get drunk... well, not what most people would call drunk.
You want vodka? Monsieur, can we have some more vodka?
Looks like you're enjoying yourself.
You go to see your friends, I see mine.
I guess, you girls really pull us to pieces.
Now and then, more or less...
Would you help me?
Caress me...
How can I, when you're wearing that?
If that's the only problem...
Love is bloody stupid.
It's a question of power.
A guy, you're faithful to 'cause you love him, won't fuck you anymore.
Betray him and he'll start fucking you again. It's as simple as that.
Not because they suspect, we might be unfaithful,
but because they understand, that we're escaping out of their reach.
My fists are clenched, I can't do anything...
Are you nuts... What's that supposed to mean?!
Why don't you understand, that I only do it with you.
I've never touched anybody's dick.
And why can't you just stop getting on my nerves?
'Cause you don't do anything.
You... have taken my position.
You're the woman. I'm the man.
I fuck you.
Isn't it incredible...
That was how that egoistic bastard made me pregnant.
Without a trace of lust, he did not even come.
Making me the Virgin Mary...
with a single droplet of sperm.
Spread your legs a little more... Relax... Exactly...
The cervix uteri is closed, tonic... The uterus is...
It must be the 8th week.
Okay, it's your turn.
And all of a sudden I'd become an object of studies for spotty, young medics.
A piece of meat.
Once you're pregnant, you're suddenly supposed not to mind spreading your legs,
and having you vagina examined to the innermost part.
I came to like it though, with a little taste of bitterness.
Because, since I had an arrangement with Robert to pause during my pregnancy,
nobody else was touching me.
The monthly checkup had turned into my only sexual relationship.
I could never normally lie down on the gynaecological chair,
I don't spread my legs.
That's why it excites me.
'Cause I'm more frigid than others.
I know, why traditional chinese medicine cured with ivory copies of its patients.
Although that can be inadmissible, too.
Porn is nothing more than curing one's libido with its depiction.
But what one doesn't permit for oneself, one can't allow in a picture either.
The very moment an image shows us, it exposes us completely.
Very good.
Paul is right.
You can't possibly love this face, with a cunt like this.
This pussy can't possibly belong to this face.
I often visualize a whorehouse,
where the head is separated from the body...
by a system, similar to a guillotine...
before the hatchet drops.
It goes without saying, that there is no hatchet, of course.
I wear a red skirt made of satin, that rustles with every touch.
And it's that ridiculous accessory, what turns the men on.
What in turn proves, that those who get turned on, don't love us, either.
Basically Paul is right: Being a woman corresponds to a shortcoming.
For being wild about a woman really means: wanting to fuck her.
However, wanting to fuck a woman means: despising her.
Love between men and women is not possible.
I don't know why I visualize these men as being crude and apelike.
Aziz, look at my dick!
As if crudeness was the most desirable thing.
Good, I can see the head now.
That was the spine...
The femur...
Do you want to know what it is?
It's a boy.
That's phenomenal.
Do you want me to marry you?
I do.
That evening Paul loved me for the first time in a very long time.
And for the last time.
From then on I was no more than a millstone round his neck,
that he put up with out of a sense of duty.
We went out every evening.
With his sister and his brother-in-law.
Now, that I was the mother of his son,
I was finally introduced to his family.
Are you okay?
Two whiskey.
Are you okay? - I'm fine.
Anything to drink?
I hope, you're not about to make a scene.
I'm not.
I wanted to dance, with the first girl that came along.
We would have nearly kissed. She looked at me, as if I came from mars.
So I simply left her standing somewhere.
She didn't even know, what was happening to her.
See, there's no reason for complaining.
I don't complain.
Then why am I explaining...?
One whiskey, please.
Aren't you two in love anymore?
You look like a couple of petty bourgeois. That's how you're holding her.
Here... have a seat.
Are you tired?
Could be worse.
She's my sister, but anyway...
I am going to tell her: A guy loves a challenge.
He doesn't want to have someone who follows him all the time.
He's got to have the concern, he might lose her.
Then he'll be after her.
Or otherwise, after someone else.
A guy is always after someone.
What's your opinion?
I don't care about your little hunting tales.
That bastard...
Leaving me all alone with the fear,
that my vagina stretches out, and that I'll have to push out the baby.
Paul, wake up!
I've had it, your boozing!
You damn bastard. You fucking model!
I'm coming down.
What's the matter?
You'll like it.
We're preparing everything... wait for the contraction...
Take a deep breath.
As soon as it passes, lie down.
No, the father can't stay. - Oh yes, he stays!
Can't I have an epidural...? - Too late, your baby's coming.
Okay, we're ready... we'll push the baby out, right?
Take a breath... stop... support her from the other side...
And push strongly... just go ahead... one more time and again...
With all your strength... push... Hold your breath... and again.
It's incredible... to give life.
Just do it... breathe in...
Hold it... and here we go...
People say, a woman is no woman, until she's given birth to a child.
I believe it's true.
Everything before that, has lost its significance.
For Christine Pascal
I gave my son his father's first name.
If someone up above counts the souls, then we're quits.
Subtitle translation by bledesonnenblume, april 2002 memory of Skiop R.I.P. old friend!
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