7/5/77 Stamboul Prelude Our Belgrade train left the cavernous Sarajevo station at midnight. In the shove and bustle of the ensuing hours, K and I shared a compartment variously with a conscript, a student, a man with a bandaged foot, another with the fierce eyebrows and defiant cap of someone from an Eisenstein film, a mother with a baby. We were too deeply in the night hours for any of these to show interest in conversation and conditions were so cramped one did not stretch a leg or lean aslant one’s seat. The single light globe was too weak to…