He’d been in Sarajevo for the winter Olympics, a young reporter, keen and idealistic and he remembered the thrill of it, the excitement, the brilliant snow for the skiers and the magnificent ice stadium where Torville and Dean’s magical skating held the world enthralled. He’d walked out with Katya in the summer to look at it, a weed-strewn wreckage of twisted metal.
Now as they sat trying to keep warm, hungry but not yet starving, that all seemed a dream, another distant world and he found it impossible to balance those scenes of pleasure and international sociability with the carnage and bloodshed he’d witnessed in the city.
"We've got to get out," he was saying as he’d been saying for weeks to Arif and Esma as much as to Katya.
And always the answer was the same. "This is our home, if we leave we lose everything, we may never be able to come back. You should go James, use the tunnel, they will let you through, you have only to say who you are.”
“Not without Katya.”
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