ERHARDT

ERHARDT

Erhardt was a friend of ours who worked in the same company as my husband. He was built like a Mack truck – 6ft 5, 250 lbs of solid muscle. We lives in Montreal at the time, and when the Montreal phone book expired and got replaced, Erhardt liked nothing better than to go around the office, ripping these thick phone books apart with his bare hands.

He drove a Volks bug and had some trouble with the engine rattling, so he brought it around to our house and asked for mechanically gifted hubby D’s help. Going to the front of his car, he bent over, hooked his fingers over the bumper then heaved it up. ”Dere D.you cun go under dere now and I vill holt the car op for you.” Needless to say, D did no such thing – he insisted on jacking up the car and putting blocks under the wheels before venturing under it. Erhardt was disgusted. ”Vat a vaste of time,” he muttered under his breath. ”I vudn’t drop it.”

He helped us move once which wasn’t a very real blessing. He grabbed pieces of furniture which needed to be negotiated around the door, but Erhardt wasn’t having that. He charged ahead then looked bewildered at the results. ”Vy did das legs fall off?” he said scratching his head in bewilderment.

He lived on the third floor of an apartment building, and being particularly partial to smoking a toke, he openly grew some marijuana in pots right there on his veranda! ”Erhardt,” I said to him. ”All a cop would have to do is look up and he’s see your plants – you’d be in deep doo doo!”

Erhardt laughed uproariously and slapped his leg. ”No Chowanna, de cops neva look up. Dey too busy writing parkink tickuts.”

Well, he must’ve been right, because he was never caught.

We loved him dearly. Then something terrible happened – Erhardt fell deeply in love with a woman who was pure evil. She led him a dog’s life. She loved humiliating him in front of his friends, by telling “hilarious” Nazi jokes. She aped his German accent and said things like “You vill shtop doink dat or I vill zend you to da gas chamber.” She also made fun of the fact that Erhardt wore a wig – she referred to it as “Erhard’s rat.” And Erhardt took this abuse quietly and with such dignity – I ached for him.

One day, she had a massive row with Erhardt, went off to Freeport in the Bahamas, had an affair with a student from Boston, who gave her more than a good time. When she came home, she gave Erhardt a sexually transmitted disease which let the cat out of the bag.

Instead of owning up and being honest, she told him lies and more lies, and their marriage fell apart. She managed to convince him that it was all his fault, and she left him broken hearted. At the last parting, he gave her a rose with a note attached which read ‘mea culpa,’ (my fault).” They got divorced.

He took the blame squarely on his shoulders, and such was his grief and pain, he committed suicide.

Both D and I grieved deeply when we received the news, but his evil ex wife didn’t give a damn. In no time flat she remarried (an Italian guy) and I have no doubt she led him a dog’s life too.

A mutual friend told me that this woman contacted her and had the gall to say “I am happy with Frank (her second husband), but the only thing that mars my happiness is that dear Erhardt isn’t alive to share in my happiness. If he were alive, I’m sure he would be happy for me!” Bloody hypocrite!

There are few people I would call downright evil right through to the core of their being, but she qualified for that appellation, IN SPADES.

There is no justice in this world.