I've been thinking about the mindwipe, now two days away. Who said that those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it? I fear that may be true for me. Add this to the reasons I write now: to remember something, perhaps even to learn -- Emil Malaquez arrived after sundown, carrying a small package wrapped in what looked like real paper. His evening dress was formal, expensive, and slightly stained, as that of all forgetful artists should be. He was a jovial man with an easy laugh, and even uglier than Tasha had suggested. I liked him immediately. "Señor Malaquez?" "Please. Call me Emil. You must be Bernardo. Tasha's told me much about you." "All of it outrageous praise?" "All of it." "Ah, she is wonderfully perceptive." He raised an eyebrow, then guffawed. "Has she said as much about me?" "She thinks you are a genius. Do come in." "Thank you." 
Who has Tasha spoken much about Bernardo to?
Emil