I Sit in the Light

By Fatma Durmush ISBN: 978-1-84747-170-3 Published: 2007 Pages: 318 Key Themes: ethnic minorities, short stories, schizophrenia Description 'I Sit in the Light' is a collection of short plays and stories written by a successful artist, playright and former schizophrenic. They chart 20 years of life experience and are clearly influenced by the vast tome of emotions which Fatma has been through. Her years as a 'down and out' and her years as a dishwasher have inspired her to write about some of the struggles of life. About the Author Fatma Durmush was born in 1959; after years spent suffering from schizophrenia she has finally achieved her ambition to be a renowned artist and now has an art degree. She will be going on to study an MA in art this year. As well as an artist and succuesful author, Fatma is also a playright. She found a modest niche in America where two of her plays have been performed, one of which will soon be published in an anthology. In the UK She has been published by The Big Issue as well as books and pamphlets. Her artwork has featured in over sixty exhibition at, amongst others, the Tate Modern and The National Gallery. Book Extract It was Istanbul on the night when it whirled round at precisely 3 am on the 17th August. This was when Ceyland found herself at the very bottom of the stairs. The building was on top of her. She was not awake yet and thought that she was in a nightmare. But she was wet with blood and this terrified her. Ceylan called her children, but they did not answer her. It was only later that she realised, she was on top of her child. She was thirsty, she wanted to pee. She realised it was morning because she heard voices outside. Then someone called, "Is there anyone there?" "Yes," she croaked but they did not hear her. She was buried alive, she tried to raise her voice, to scream but could not. She heard a male voice "Is there anyone there?" His voice was raised so that she had to answer back, but when she did, he did not hear. She was house-proud, and did not like her household to be viewed like this. In fact the house was a mess. She was also a nurse, her job was to bring relief, and now she was in need. She has a good for nothing husband who did not come near her unless he wanted something. He drank, you see. A terrible tiredness overtook her. She was on something soft and tender, maybe a cushion. She could not move to feel it. It felt soft when her skin came into contact with it, whatever it was it felt cold. "Why is it cold?" She asked herself. She refused to know. She was a trained nurse that was why. Whatever this was, she could not think about it. She moaned as she felt the pain in her legs. She could not move them. She heard one of her children scream and thanked "Allah. Allah the merciful. "Janim!" what could one do without God? She was about to pray but realised that she would wait because she was dirty. One had to be clean to pray. "Janim!" she screamed to the child and the child stopped crying. "Janim, don't cry."