After the Communist coup in Czechoslovakia, our Eastern European correspondent, Robert Low, got an urgent telegram from a United Press reporter who had sublet his apartment in Prague. It said that the landlady had canceled the lease and was threatening to repossess his furniture.

At the time, Low was busy working on the cover story about Greek guerrilla chief Markos (TIME, April 5). So Mrs. Low who was with him in Athens, rushed to Prague to recoup their possessions. The following account of the difficulties she encountered has just reached us from Istanbul where the Lows are now located. It offers, I think, some interesting intelligence on the situation in Czechoslovakia.

"The Czechs are the unhappiest people in Europe, and their sadness is fresh, tearful and utterly pathetic. One of the few old friends who came to see me came only because, she said, 'I'm in so much trouble already that seeing you doesn't matter.' An Action Committee had put her out of her job with an export firm and her husband had lost his with the Ministry. She had been informed that they would be given new jobs 'according to their physical abilities. Another friend, a professor, tearfully expressed what is perhaps the underlying feeling among Czechs: 'It is so lonely,' he said, 'there is no one to talk to. My enemy may be my best friend--or my brother.'

"Mostly, people talk of going 'skiing' which means escaping over the mountains into Bavaria, or 'honeymooning' which means buying a husband (French, Italian, English or American) in order to get out of the country legally and take a few valuables with them.

"You know, of course, that the sale of TIME is forbidden now in Prague. So I was amazed to see on a newsstand in front of the offices of Rude Pravo a copy of TIME displayed, not prominently, but easily seen. It was the issue of December 29 with a picture of the Virgin and Child on the cover. When I asked the old woman in charge of the stand what sort of magazine it was, she winked at me and said it was an 'art' magazine. I asked if I might buy it. 'No,' she said, 'leave it for those who need it.'

"I had a terrible time getting the necessary export permit, a document about ten pages long, smudged and finger-marked, dotted with tax stamps, official stamps, signatures and more signatures. I've forgotten a lot of the things I had to do, but the following stand out clearly:

1) Get police permit to leave.

2) Make list of every single item.

3) Get National Committee to give me certificate that all property is personal. Round up three good Czechs (Communists) to verify it.

4) Get certificate from Magistrate that my belongings were not German confiscated property. Again three more 'good' witnesses.

5) Make declaration that I received no money as salary in Czechoslovakia--three more witnesses.

6) Get certificate that I am indebted for no taxes (Oh, the hours that took).

7) Bribe official appraiser to evaluate my possessions immediately --pay him 2%.

8) The great day had come--I could apply for export permit. The Finance Ministry said I must have a certificate of export from the Cultural Ministry on four framed water colors which were the only possessions I had bought in Czechoslovakia. I blew up, antagonized officers, apologized, went to Cultural Ministry, got new special appraisal of pictures, more witnesses, more bribes, another certificate, countersign-ers, paid export duty, received permit, entertained customs while packing, paid customs. It was pay, pay, pay--and then it was all over. "The only thing I learned from all this is how to distinguish between Communists and nonCommunists.

Czech men greet women by saying 'Rukullbam' (I kiss your hand) but Communists say only `Dorby den' (Good day) and give you the back of their hand."

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