The Sakri

It’s a little-known fact that I was once a manager for a music store set in a mall in the Ermita district. It was owned by my compadre, Christian—a half-American, half-Peruvian expat who was a virtuoso with any musical instrument. He and I met in the summer of ’98 and he introduced me to the magical world of Afro-Cuban and “Earth Music”.

Chris would play on weekends and we would jam at the sidewalk table at the Episode Café along Julio Nakpil Street and we became very good friends. Like me, he loved photography and was an accomplished “photog” himself. He taught me how to play the “Dhoumbek”, an African hand drum which he produced himself, made out of ceramic mixed in with volcanic ash from Mount Pinatubo which gave the instrument extra rigidity and a unique sound quality. The drums he produced made him popular enough that he opened a shop and I would hang out in the late afternoons and we would jam the whole time. One thing we both noticed at the time was that, whichever drum I chose to play that afternoon would end up being sold almost instantly. Sometimes it took a few hours but that particular drum would never be on display the next day.

One afternoon while in a trance, playing a Hindu-Arabic melody, she walked in: golden hair, a whistle-bait figure, long summer dress and a perfume I’ve never caught a whiff of before or since! I watched her gracefully walk into the shop, as if my eyes were a slow-motion camera filming her. Her long summer dress floated in sync with her gait.

She smiled as she approached me and introduced herself, “I’m Jacqui, Chris’ sister. Is he here?”

The fingers of my hand slowed their tempo as I drifted back to earth. “No, he’s not. Can I help you?”

“Not quite, I think,” she replied.

--“I know he’ll be back in an hour. You wanna wait for him in the back?”

“Nah, but I’ll take a stroll around the mall and see if I fancy anything. Catch you later?”

--“I’ll be here.”

And she dashed off sooner than I could introduce myself. I was still reeling in disbelief at the enchanting creature I’ve just encountered. Later, I thought, that I should introduce myself. I went back to playing when a mother and daughter who looked like they were from India, walked in.

“Hallo! May I ask what instrument you’re playing?”

--“It’s a dhoumbek, ma’am. Originally from Africa, its name basically describes the sound it makes—a bass-like, “dhoum” when hit in the center of the skins and a high-pitched, “bek” when hit at the rim of the drum.”

“Amazing,” exclaimed the daughter! “Can you play some more? It sounds very ‘Indian’.”

And so, I obliged my guests. I can’t exactly play any decent musical instrument like the guitar or the piano but I can whack at the dhoumbek like a madman! Playing as masterfully as I could, the two ladies watched in awe and I closed my eyes and went into a trance and about a half hour later, I put the drum in a box, wrote a receipt, and thanked them for the purchase.  

That was how my afternoons were spent. I didn’t make much but I certainly enjoyed playing and I loved it when people would crowd the show window. Some folks would even take out their camcorders and film the entire improv performance. I got a high from that but I got butterflies in the belly whenever Jacqui would come by.

Back then, there was a thing called, “sakri”—a bracelet made of spring wire which can be connected at the ends to form a necklace. A friend of mine gave me a set and I wore one piece as a ring and another as a bracelet. I had several pieces left and I had the wild idea of making a necklace and giving it to Jacqui.

The very thought of giving her something intimate was enough to rattle my senses. Of course, I was nervous, not only of the gift being declined but also the fact that I was breaking an unwritten yet sacred law of NOT taking a pass at your friend’s sister! I knew what I was about to do was sacrilegious but for me, as long as we weren’t related by blood, she was fair game!

That day, Jacqui was behind the counter, minding the store. My heart thumped as hard as a slap on the dhoumbek and it was beating like a Bedouin native himself was hitting the skins! She smiled when she saw me and I didn’t waste a second and whipped out the little packet containing the “sakri”.

“Hey, I’ve got something for you, Jaqs!”

--“Cool, what is it?”

“Have you ever seen a ‘sakri’?’

--“Oh, wow, I always wanted one of those!”

So, I slipped the packet into her hand and she opened it and took out the pieces that I connected to form a necklace. What she did next was something that would haunt me to this day! She handed me back the sakri, turned around, bunched up her hair at the nape and said, “Go ahead!”

I never thought I’d be as close to her as I physically was at that moment. In my haste, I hit my crotch on her firm posterior which aroused me but she showed no displeasure at the small accident. Holding the sakri with both hands, I raised my arms around her and closed in on her neck and I was practically embracing her but again, she paid no mind. I could smell that distinct perfume mixed in with her sweat and shampoo.

When I fastened both ends of the sakri to close the necklace, she turned around as if seeking my approval on how she looked. Giving her a slow, once-over, the necklace certainly was meant for her but I also could see the freckles dotting her skin. Her low-cut dress, revealing she was not wearing a bra!

I snapped out of the daze when she said, “Hey, how does it look on me?”

Let me clarify that up to this point, her brother was absolutely furious that I was even friends with her sister, let alone, the fact that we were going out on dates or carry out long conversations either at the store or over a table at Penguin. I used to think that those chats meant nothing to her until one day, she got her hair done at the salon right next to the store at the mall. I checked up on her and she saw me and gestured with her fingers that she was third in the queue. I went back to the store and not long after, she came in holding a magazine and showed me an article about something we talked about almost a week before! That’s when I fell for her totally, knowing that somehow, she was interested in what I had to say and that she enjoyed the time we spend together.

I will never forget our one and only, movie date. “The Negotiator”, starring Samuel Jackson and Kevin Spacey was playing. Asking her felt no different than the time I gave her the Sakri necklace. So, yeah, I was ecstatic when she said yes! It was one of the hottest summers ever and she was again, wearing a light-brown summer dress and I was clad in shorts and loose t-shirt. Instead of popcorn and sodas, we picked up Subway sandwiches and lemonade. We both had a great time and I never knew she was a big Kevin Spacey fan.

It would be almost a week before I’d see Jacqui again. When she showed up at the store that day, she wasn’t as vibrant as she always was. She said nothing when she walked in and instead went straight to the counter and opened the drawer where we kept some personal stuff. She picked up her things and put them in a silk purse slung between her chest which put much emphasis on her unprotected mammary glands. I felt sick.

“You okay, Jaqs?”

--“I’m fine. I’m leaving in two days.”

“Where to?”

--“Going back to my mom.”

“Peru?”

--“Yeah…I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

“I guess you don’t know when you’ll be back either?”

She kept her eyes on the floor and said nothing then she comes over to me and gave me an embrace that was so tight, I thought my back was going to snap! One last peck on the cheek and she was out the door.

I never wore sakris since.