Sunday, December 5

Notes for a script by Armonía Somers | Babelia

The Uruguayan writer Armonía Somers.
The Uruguayan writer Armonía Somers.Editorial Foam Pages.

Notes for a film script


The trip of two truckers on the highway takes place in a monotonous train, with some or other of the usual road incidents. Men perspire, a very important detail, firstly because summer is present throughout all the action, and, on a subjective level, because of the role played by what we could call the Threat of that same piece of summer, which it is the load of firewood inhabited by “someone” transported by individuals. Suddenly, the voice of one of them breaks the silence.

Trucker 1

– I’ve been asking myself and I can’t find an answer: How much fuel under a sun that softens the brains?

Trucker 2

–Because the rich are like that, don’t get hot for so little, we already have plenty, with the forty-nine on the thermometer, man …


Trucker 1, to a Volkswagen:

“Go make it boil, closet head!”

Trucker 2, to a Jeep:

–Why don’t you go drive cars to the amusement park? …

And they no longer spoke for a while, except for the brutal sayings thrown at the drivers of small vehicles who do not shy away from the primacy of large transport, or about the size of the viper crossed on the road that will continue to live if it is not stepped on. head. They take care of each other of the dream that the stingray produces. They take out the bottle of something strong and drink in turn, in the meantime they contravene the road warnings as if they had to do what was advised the other way around. Suddenly, a house with several imposing chimneys appears in the distance. The ceilings of the great mansion, in different inclined planes, give the impression of breaking the air, the profusion of chimneys is capital in the game of events. It indicates not only opulence but foresight: a summer house can also serve as a winter retreat.

Trucker 2

– I already told you, they are rich and nothing escapes them. They will also come in the winter and they are already stuffing themselves with dry wood for the stoves, don’t let anyone get up early, not even the first rains of autumn …

Trucker 1

(Wiping sweat between fingers) “And the son of a bitch hasn’t stopped poking me during the whole trip.” With each jolt in the damn potholes, it has given me the bad feeling that the scorpion that got between the splinters when loading chose me as a candidate …

Trucker 2

(Brutally) “Will you finish the matter?” For as much as that it would have been better to give up the trip when we saw him hide among the firewood … Like a toy train (points in the air the sinuous march of a convoy), and able to get into the tunnel of the spine …

Truck Driver 1 scrubs in terror against the seatback. His whole being seems invaded against the false unscrupulous air of the other.

Trucker 1

“We would have screwed everything at that moment.”

Trucker 2

“But we got the job, right?” So, with scorpion and all, we will have to download. And if the bug puts its rotten poison on us, patience. It bursts with that and not with any other plague; zonza custom of walking choosing the way to stretch that of killing ants.


The driver slows down when he reaches the sign with an arrow: Villa Las Thereses. Entry. He puts the engine in second gear and begins to climb the access ramp to the building, crawling like a caterpillar between two stretches of grass so shaved, so sexless that it looks more like a tourism poster. Two huge dogs take to the air.

Insistent barking.

New indicator arrow: Service. More sophisticated turf like upholstery. Until the Butler emerges, dry, elegant and hard with a hermetic expression of a padlock as a stop, a shoulder of style.


(Pointing as a conductor would to the violins) -Here. I’m going to bring the baskets.

Truckers look at each other with all the intelligence of their miles of life. One of the dogs has discovered something on the wheel of the truck, smells meticulously and, lifting his leg, urinates. Just when the second dog also leaves his little stream, which the sun and the earth dispute as bordering states, the men jump each one through his door, heading to the back of the vehicle. New entry on the scene of the Butler. The Truckers understand each other again with a glance. The look suddenly seems to acquire the emotional immensity of a farewell. But that will not last long. When the Steward hands over the two large baskets, those individuals who have suffered for each other are no longer in sight. They are the pair of vulgar truckers who snatch the baskets from the man, sending ironic glances at his polished shoes, at his white bib. Then one of them maneuvers with the dump truck and the river of logs begins to slide, always under a climate of terror. Subjective scorpions are confused by the sight of the falling splinters.

The Uruguayan writer Armonía Somers.
The Uruguayan writer Armonía Somers. Editorial Foam Pages.


Spiral staircase leading to the basement of the mansion.

(Voice of the Maid humming)… the cows got away from me / and it happens to anyone …

The slow descent of the Truckers loaded with baskets of firewood on their shoulders begins.

[Un reloj de carrillón (invisble) da las tres de la tarde].

Appearance of the Maid in the basement kitchen. She is a woman who encompasses all the attributes of the field and humanity. His deeply vital being is divided between pressing the dough he makes and looking at the temperature of the oven. The uniform looks pristine. The basement kitchen looks big and classic. It has on its side a large deposit for firewood embedded in the wall.


(Watching the loaded men arrive)

“With what firewood again and still in the middle of summer?” More and more firewood, we will die under the wood (laughs wildly). Download and download. Good afternoon God give us, boys.

Truck Driver 1 unloads his basket of firewood at full volume, shakes off his clothes with manifest apprehension. He then confronts the woman boldly, looking at her from all angles.

Trucker 1

“Good rotten summer afternoon, you mean.” Is there where to wash and have something fresh around here?


(Always laughing out loud) -Good and rotten … If I had known how to say it like that this morning when they sold me the apples for the cake …

Trucker 1



–Heaven help us, they were so beautiful on the outside and so filthy inside… Come and wash, I’m going to look for something fresh in the meantime…

The Maid starts off, towards another angle. Trucker 2 drops the firewood from his own basket into the woodshed, checks his clothes, turns over his pockets.

Manuscript of the script of 'Death by scorpion' by Armonía Somers
Manuscript of the script of ‘Death by scorpion’ by Armonía Somers

Trucker 2

“But no apples, huh?”

The Maid comes to the fore with a jug of fruit smoothie in hand.


“More like with oranges and lemons, then, like this.” (He hesitates). How strange, it is never said of a girl that she is cute like an orange or cute like a lemon, and yes like an apple. So that later what happens with my apples today. And sometimes worse, they melt like dust in the mouth and don’t go down the throat. (He laughs gleefully again).

Truckers 1 and 2 in the box and in an aside they comb their freshly wet hair.

Trucker 1 to 2

(Alone you) –This kitchen parrot looks like my grandmother: I found one for all things, for example.

Trucker 2

(Idem) –But you’re right in what you say about apples, you are.

The individuals beat each other as frolicking. Then the three characters come into the picture, while the woman offers glasses with the smoothie.

Trucker 1

–My grandmother was always right too, and she died the same on a summer day like this.

Both men drink greedily, wiping the juice that falls from their corners with their hands. The Maid looks at them spellbound from her elemental humanism.


“That’s it, the good one.” Samaritan, as Mr. Günter always repeats, and it will be so, although I don’t know what he means.

Trucker 1

–Things are better that way, Dona Samaritana, or whatever her name is. We were sweating in fear on the road.


-My name is Martha. And sweating in fear for what?

Trucker 2

Yes, that’s how it was, Marta. Worse things can happen to firewood than to apples and girls. But it is better not to speak.

The two men look towards the woodshed. One of them makes horns with his hand by stretching his index finger and little finger, spits three times, squeezes his testicles. The Maid enters the picture and, seeing all this, crosses herself.

Trucker 1

–And now we go for more and fucking firewood. But why do you make those crosses?


–There must be a devil if there is a spell… So my grandmother used to say. Better that than pouring salt over your left shoulder. The Devil is more afraid of the cross (laughs as always).

Trucker 2

-Ufa, all the grandmothers got up today from the grave.

The men come out whistling with their empty baskets on their shoulders. The woman crosses herself again, checks the oven temperature, and begins to fix the logs with a garden fork. Then a sequence of falling logs fill the next scene with a crash. This replaces the new remittances to the subsoil. At one point the woman re-enters the painting, wipes her floured hands on her apron, places more scattered logs in place. The kitchen returns to its original appearance. Spiral staircase.

Voice of the Maid singing;

… The cows escaped me / and it happens to anyone / my boyfriend abandoned me / and everything on Tuesday the thirteenth …


'Complete stories', HARMONY SOMERS.  Editorial Foam Pages.

Complete stories

Harmony Somers.
Foam Pages, 2021.
656 pages, 29 euros.

Look for it in your bookstore

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