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identical inwardly as two such instruments from Sony and the only thing that differentiates them is—at least superficially—the same thing which differentiates one Sony instrument from another.”
    At this point he paused and looked at me over his glasses; he obviously expected me to be keen to find out what it was that differentiated one instrument from another.
    â€œWhat can that be?” I asked.
    â€œWhat differentiates identical twins is the treatment they receive, at least how they are treated as children and teenagers; what they are fed, what noises, words and music they hear. In other words: upbringing. I don’t mean just musical upbringing, rather upbringing in general, which I have always thought should be called treatment.”
    â€œIsn’t that too clinical a word?”
    â€œTreatment?” He almost seemed to snort at my comment. “It could well be that it is clinical but I think it is more suitable to express upbringing, at least from a general point of view. Most children are of course not brought up in any way, instead they just undergo some sort of treatment from their parents. Naturally, the treatment varies, but quite a few of them simply just get such rough treatment that they will never be anything else but children. I know about that.”
    He paused again and in the meantime I imagined that something had gone wrong in his upbringing, something that he realized had had an effect on him as an adult. Then he carried on:
    â€œBut whatever happened; if you had an identical twin brother, which I doubt you have, then he should really be called . . . ?”
    It took me a few seconds to realize that I was being asked a question.
    â€œEmil,” I said. Just as I had expected, he didn’t remember my name.
    â€œEmil. Yes, that’s as good a name as any. Emil Jonsson.”
    â€œEmil Halldorsson,” I corrected him. “Emil S. Halldorsson.”
    â€œYou know who Emil Jonsson was, don’t you?”
    â€œCan’t say I do,” I answered.
    â€œIt can be useful to know about famous people who share your name,” he said and sat up straight in his seat. “Emil Jonsson is not the worst namesake one could think of, I am quite sure of that.”
    â€œI don’t think I have ever heard him mentioned,” I said, and it occurred to me to mention my namesake in the Swedish SmÃ¥lands, but I changed my mind.
    â€œBut perhaps you are no better off knowing about someone who bore your name in the past,” Armann carried on. “Least of all if he is dead.”
    For a moment I wondered whether my namesake, whom I had thought of mentioning, was still alive or not, and whether characters in stories grew old in the same way as, for example, their authors.
    â€œBut you aren’t a twin, are you?” Armann asked. He smiled and waited for my answer, as if he wanted to make sure that I had come into this world alone, was one of a kind and so on.
    I said I wasn’t.
    â€œConsider yourself lucky,” he said.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œNot to be a twin.”
    This last comment made me think that he was hinting at his own personal experience of being a twin (could he even be an identical twin?), and yet it was unthinkable that there could be another version of such a man.
    â€œThen it mentions slightly further on,” he went on and turned over the page of the book. “It states here: ‘Fearing that their trademark, if converted to a noun, may become as generic as aspirin or kleenex , they,’ that is Sony, of course, ‘sidestep the grammatical issues by insisting upon Walkman Personal Stereos .’ In other words they avoid the issue by removing the grammar from the name of the instrument. Or the name of the technology, to be more exact.”
    â€œIs that so?” I said. “The company directors have started controlling how we talk?”
    â€œThere is no question about it,” Armann