National Geographic : 1935 Jan
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE Photograph by Wilhelm Tobien SHIPS HAVE PLOWED THESE BLUE WATERS SINCE HISTORY BEGAN Idling in the harbor of Santa Margherita Ligure, these sailing craft follow in the wake of Phoenician and Greek, Roman and Saracen. Above the popular bathing resort, the author wandered over a road so beautiful that it became a retreat for monarchs and composers, whose names add interest to the region (see text, pages 70, 74). His reluctance on approaching was like an agony. As he stood before me, the tears fell from his big brown eyes. I feared Vanna had given him an awful drubbing. I sided with the criminal. "I want you to go down to the port with me. We will buy cakes and chocolates, and eat them." It was as if I had rubbed salt in his stripes. His crying was frank and free. "Non posso, non posso." But why couldn't he go? He slowly turned his back to me with the agony of a repentant criminal who shows to his con fessor the blood on his hands. From shoulder to shoulder, on the back of the small figure, hung a cardboard sign on which his mother had traced in red chalk the horrid word, LIAR. "And I must wear it all day!" he sobbed. "I will kill myself before school." Vanna was creeping upon the scene, one corner of her apron ready for mopping up her tears. She made a sudden rush toward Marco, crying as hard as he. She called him an angel; he called her little mother, all amid mad caresses, until both fell to laughing, and together trampled on the ground the terrible word and destroyed it with merry heels.