Yes, Nikita . . .

DEAR NIKITA:

Well, here we are again at that time of year when the round man flips out his notebook and thumbs through to decide who will find the biggest presents under his tree. I know that you probably doubt that he exists because to you old Kris is just another bourgcols fairy tale for fooling the downtrodden proletarians, but he certainly believes in you. I know that he does because I've been peeking over his shoulder the last few days and saw what he had beside your name. I just thought you might like to know how things stand between you and the old man.

You and Nikolai started out being very good boys this year. What with Geneva and all, Kris and I both thought that things might change a bit around your place. But then came that trip. Oh, sure, I know you two had Nehru snowed, but he didn't give you many presents, did he? Of course, there's that flag that says "Indians and Russians are Brothers." But knowing the kind of guy you are, well, I really expected you'd get something more substantial.

Then your fairy godfather over here came through solidly as he always does. "Goa?" he said. "That's a Portuguese province." And, of course that made things just hunky-dory with you because you could say some nice things about Kashmir and come off top dog after all. pinch and you got a nice fat contract to build those Burmese a dam. That was a fine present, wasn't it?

After that, you went on to Burma, where, I understand, you used some very bad language which didn't help you much, considering the season and all. But sure enough, old fairy godfather could be counted on in a

And last weeks, there you were once more, popping up in, of all places, Afghanistan with a neutrality treaty that should keep you safe from those imperialistic warmongers. If you shut your eyes real tight, you might imagine that fairy godfather down in Washington would still put something in your stocking.

And what's more, Nikita, here's another bit of good news. While you were so busy over there, old godfather's boys were making fools of themselves over at the UN. That should make the old yule log blaze up bright and cheery next week. And don't worry, if you get yourself into another jam with that peace-and-good-will malarky you've been spreading around, why just drop a note to J.F.D. I'm sure he'll help you out. His address is 2100 Virginia Avenue, Washington, D.C.

Yes, Nikita, there is a Santa Claus.