THE STORIES THEY TELL

In some areas of the world, laughter is dangerous. Several Germans were recently arrested in the Soviet zone of Germany after movie theater audiences had guffawed at (1) a film purporting to show Soviet ships unloading food for Germany; (2) newsreel pictures of barrel-bellied Wilhelm Pieck, German Communist boss, who reminds many of his compatriots of the late Hermann Goring. But whether laughter was the privilege of the free or the furtive solace of the oppressed, it continued as always to lighten man's burden:

Around London's Fleet Street last week went a story of how the Soviet government wished to commemorate Composer Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky. They opened a competition for Soviet sculptors to submit designs for a memorial. Most efforts depicted the com poser seated at a piano or working on a score. The winning design: a twelve-foot-high bronze figure of Stalin, listening -- to the music of Tchaikovsky.

In Budapest, a current folk tale has it that a peasant came to the city, approached a policeman, and asked him the way to Stefania Street. "It's not Stefania Street now," answered the cop, "it's been changed to Voroshilov Street." The peasant then asked how to find Italia Street. "You go that way," said the policeman, "but its new name is Vishinsky Street." The peasant inquired about Vigado Square. "You'll pass it on your way," said the policeman, "but you must call it Molotov Square." Some time later the policeman, crossing a bridge over the Danube, saw the peasant staring morosely into the water. "You don't seem to have followed my directions," the policeman remarked. "Not yet," said the peasant; "I was just standing here thinking how big the Moskva has become at Budapest."

Favorite target of Prague wits is the plump, unlearned wife of Premier Klement Gottwald. They say she met a friend who twittered: "We are going tonight to the Marriage of Figaro. Will you be there?"

"I don't think so," replied Mrs. Gottwald. "My husband is so busy. But we shall send him a telegram."

Central Europeans are fond of making comparisons between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. One goes like this: a delegation of U.S. trade unionists visiting Moscow is taken to a huge factory. One car stands outside the building. An American asks: "Whose is this plant?" "It belongs to the workers." "And whose is this car?" "The car belongs to the director." Later on, some Russian unionists return the visit. Their American colleagues take them to Detroit. They stop before a huge factory building where several thousand cars are lined up. A Russian asks: "Whose factory is this?" "It is Ford's." "And to whom do these cars belong?" "Why, they belong to the workers."

At U.N. headquarters in Paris, disillusioned staffers were telling each other that the famed French architect, Le Corbusier, now hard at work on plans for the U.N. buildings in New York City, was including special corridors for nations that wanted to by-pass an issue.

Japanese take the demilitarization of their country seriously--but with a touch of humor. A mother with a howling baby on her back was riding a crowded Tokyo streetcar. A kindly student standing next to them in the crush patted the baby and talked soothingly. "Don't cry, child. You know, crybabies can never grow up to be strong soldiers." The baby stopped crying, looked at the student stonily, and said with dignity: "Japan doesn't need soldiers any more"--and went on howling.

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