My mother had two brothers. Both of them came of age in DP camps in Denmark after the WW II. Then their paths diverged.
The elder one found a millwright apprenticeship in Switzerland. Plied his trade at the Degussa works in Rheinfelden for a few years. Came to Canada in the mid fifties. Gave General Electric the rest of his working life. Welding inspector. Spent his days inhaling the same toxic stew every day that I did. In fact, we worked together for a time. He's into his eighties now. Sharp as the proverbial tack.
The younger brother took a scholarly turn. Breathed a more rarefied air. Had a great career. History professor. Delivered learned papers at symposia in Geneva and Heidelberg and Tubingen. Wrote books. Took early retirement because of the dementia snapping at his heels. Today he sits in front of the TV, talking to Colonel Gaddafi.
I'm at an age where I'm wondering. I've been to the Alzheimer Society's website. They've got a top ten list of symptoms. I can see all of them. Then again, I'm pretty sure I could have seen all of them thirty years ago if I'd been looking for them. So I don't know what to think. I'm hoping the toxic welding fumes that inoculated the elder brother might have worked their magic on me too.
But on a bad day I'm pretty sure I can hear it sniffing round my door.
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