I<br >Tibet<br >The storm howled through the deserted streets of Lhasa.<br > Ganden Nesang fought his way around a corner， his arm<br >held protectively in front of his eyes as a shield against the sleet<br >that stung and tore at his face. As he came full into the teeth of<br >the wind， his foot slipped on a patch of ice. IIe staggered， and<br >the wind threw him to the pavement.<br > tte sat up， fighting to regain his breath， then dragged<br >himself into the relative shelter of a doorway. Ganden ran his<br > gloved hands worriedly over his thick sheepskin jacket.<br > "Please，" he whispered， "don t let what I carrv this night have<br > been damaged by my clumsiness." He pulled himself to his feet<br > and continued down the street.<br > Ganden hurried past a vegetable stand， shuttered against<br > the gale， then froze as headlights appeared down the street， fie<br > slowed his walk and averted his face， as if against the wind. A<br > spotlight mounted on the vehicle bathed him in its actinic glare.<br > tie sucked in his breath and forced himself to remain calm as the<br > People s Liberation Army jeep swerved across the street and<br > stopped beside him.<br > "Your papers!" a voice in the darkness ordered.<br >
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