Denny opened the door to his office. 'Another Monday,' he thought with pleasure, 'another collection day.'
He was a very rich man who couldn't ever get enough of money. A trader basically, dealing in commodities like rubber and coir, his main source of income was money-lending or what was known in his part of the world, 'gold loans' which meant lending against gold or jewellery. His customers were generally people not very well off, uneducated and rather intimidated at the thought of approaching banks for their needs. The rate of interest charged was exorbitant but Denny was known to never turn a needy person down and coupled with his jovial exterior and a syrupy tongue, managed to have a thriving business. Monday, his collection day, was special because he could literally see his wealth increase before his eyes. All transactions were in cash so no tax was ever paid. He was a real stickler for timely payments by clients and the penal interest charged was normally a sound deterrent against default. Occasionally if an errant borrower happened to be female and under fifty, he would waive the penalty in exchange for some minor sexual favours.
Denny was free with his money in entertaining his group of cronies, all in their early thirties and unmarried. Five of them would gather in his office every evening after six and they would either go to a bar or one of the clubs. Wilson, the dandy of the group, was always dressed impeccably and fancied himself as a ladies man. The group would watch an occasional blue film at Denny's office late at night.
One weekend, during a the drinking session, Denny pulled Wilson aside.
'Wil, try and get out of work on Monday morning and turn up at my office by around 11. You might get lucky,' he whispered in a conspiratorial tone.
'What's up Den?' asked Wilson.
'Come and see for yourself,' was the cryptic reply.
Wilson was rather mystified by his friend's odd behaviour.
However around 11 on Monday morning he walked into Denny's office bursting with curiosity. Denny greeted him and asked him to sit in his cabin. Shortly there was a timid knock and a woman walked in hesitatingly. She appeared to be a rural type, of average height, dark and quite mediocre to look at, dressed in a cheap saree. Her hair was highly oiled in the usual rustic fashion and tied back tightly. There were traces of talcum powder on her countenance. She had obviously tried to spruce up her appearance for this meeting.
'Sir,' she addressed Denny diffidently.
'Ah Sheeja, my dear lady. How are you,' boomed Denny's deep voice.
'Sir,' she stammered. 'Forgive me. I will not be able to pay this month's interest right now.'
'What,' hissed Denny, his face darkening. 'Only three months ago you defaulted. I let you go lightly then but I'll have to take serious action this time.'
Wilson could see that Denny's wrath was an act but the poor woman was thoroughly intimidated. It appeared that she had taken a loan for sending her sister overseas to work. She had pawned some gold bangles without her husband's knowledge and had hoped to pay and recover the ornaments quickly. She was obviously terrified of her husband's reaction, which most likely would have been violent had he discovered her subterfuge. Like all married men on their island village, her husband's favourite pastime included drinking away most of his hard earned money in the evening, after slogging on the mainland and on returning home in a drunken state, beating and forcibly having sex with his wife.
'Denny Sir please,' she faltered and continued, 'if you could give me some more time.......,' her voice trailed away.
