Paul Hugo

(Image source: Wix Image Creator)

“I’ll write about it” was Paul’s winning argument time and again. Bruno, his grandson, could go on to become the nation’s most respected lawyer and he still wouldn’t know how to counter those words. 

Bruno sighs resigned, a faint smile forming at the corners of his lips.

***

Paul Hugo is an exceptionally talented German writer, a gardening enthusiast, a barbeque lover, a Beatles fan (who isn’t?) and a loving grandfather to Bruno. Don’t let his tough German accent fool you though! He’s the sweetest, most wholesome old man out there. 

On his Sundays, you would see him by a cosy spot between his bookshelf and the French window, wearing comfortable woollen socks, with a notepad in his lap, writing away. He would often start in the noons and write on way past the time to turn on light bulbs, but the man needed no artificial light. The way his face glowed by the divine writing process was illuminating enough. 

Bruno spent most of his time at Mr Hugo’s residence when he was yet to start practising law. They were enjoying some song by the Beatles which Mr Hugo was certain was “their peak performance as a band”. Although Bruno agreed entirely, his voice didn’t sound too certain as he said it. As though his thoughts wandered off to something too exciting to shake off. Mr Hugo noticed the sudden change in demeanour as well, but before he could ask anything, his grandson smiled so widely you could tell by the sheer enthusiasm of his presence in that moment, that he formulated something grand. 

“I have an idea”, Bruno said. 

***

Paul Hugo was a lot of things, but “rich” wasn’t one of them. He was well off for a retired man but not when you add court expenses. 

“That thing is costly. Hiring a lawyer. At my age, I would be making trips to the court? No, no…unnecessary” Mr Hugo shook his head in dismissal. 

“You wouldn’t have to! What am I for? And you don’t have to pay either, you’re my grandpa!”, argued Bruno with all his will, but Mr Hugo was firm. He didn’t want Bruno to spend his time on his Grandpa’s case over acquiring clients that would go on to earn him an appreciable sum. Mr Hugo was practical like that. He could write poetry that would ignite every nerve cell with emotion but he could also slide in logic when required. His case, as he rightly believed, was a losing one. There was his grandson’s picture-perfect record of past cases to consider. How would the media take this? The nation’s most acclaimed advocate couldn’t win his own Grandfather’s case? No…no…there’s no way Mr Hugo could let that happen.

He could hire a lawyer, that could be an option. But when you’re fighting a case against not just the country’s- the world’s most loved singer, there will be conflicts. 

Besides, the plagiarism isn’t even much of an issue to Mr Hugo. On his list of issues, the fact that there is weed growing in his garden tops the list, followed by finding a mechanic to fix his age-old gramophone. His Sundays still look the same. He continues to write with the same energy, although he has to wear glasses lately. 

Bruno, however, is an entirely different story. His mind can’t wipe the mental image from a year ago when he first introduced an idea. An idea that only haunts him now. He meant well, oh boy, more than anything else did he mean well! But he was too naive to think law is limited to books. 

“I have an idea” Bruno said, and encouraged his grandfather to mail his latest poetry compilation via courier to a contemporary singer they recognised as someone to have the talent to do the poems justice. There were handwritten notes explaining the poems, their themes, their mood, to enable the singer to put it down into a song without losing the essence of the poem. 

Bruno did ask his grandpa to digitalise the conversation over e-mail but as any other person of that generation would prefer, handwritten letters worked best for Mr Hugo. It continues to be Bruno’s biggest regret why he didn’t push the matter further…perhaps, his grandfather’s poems would've still been his own. Perhaps…

Bruno is brought to the present by the sound of the clattering of dishes. 

“Would you like some pizza lil one?” asked Paul, struggling with the weak grip of his old hands against the dishes. 

“Grandpa…” Bruno started, but his voice broke midway. He couldn’t pretend any more. 

“Yes, Bruno?”

“Does it really not affect you that someone’s using your work as their own?”

“Well, it’s flattering they thought of my work worthy of plagiarism!” Paul let out a humorous laugh, but Bruno’s face was nothing short of a mask. 

“Really? So you’ll just still by the French window doing nothing about it?”

That earnt Bruno a subtle smile. 

“Of course not. I’ll write about it. 

It’s what I do.” 

Bruno sighed resigned, a faint smile forming at the corners of his lips.

Of course. Of course Paul will write about it.

***

Author's Note: 'Paul Hugo' was an attempt at writing a character-driven story, more than anything else. I would like to especially mention that I'm in no way endorsing Paul's approach to dealing with plagiarism, or the lack thereof. In fact, I'm not too sure if I picked the idea of Paul from real world or an ideal utopia where people find delight solely in the very process of their artform. Everything else only follows.