by Matt Burgess
She doesn’t need to ask. Christian Louis is curled up inside her ear, a megaphone pressed to his tiny lips. “The baby wants us to run,” she says. “The baby says, ‘Go. Right now. Run away.’ ”
Above Isabel and Alfredo’s heads the parrots eye one another nervously. Their beaks are closed, their wings tucked tight to their chests. Outside a car passes and the room fills with light.
Part Two
6
From the New York State Department of Correctional Services
STATE OF NEW YORK—EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT—DIVISION OF PAROLE
INMATE STATUS REPORT FOR PAROLE BOARD APPEARANCE
PAROLE SUMMARY—RELEASE APPLICANT
(May, 2002)
INMATE STATUS REPORT FOR PAROLE BOARD APPEARANCE
Page 2
Present Offense:
The description of the Instant Offense was derived from the Presentence Investigation. On December 5, 1999, the subject, Jose Batista Jr., along with his co-defendants, Conrad Hall and Giovanni Dupre, did unlawfully enter the commercial premise, Virgil Caterers at 75-01 31st Avenue, East Elmhurst, NY, and did unlawfully remove from the above premises $5000 cash US currency belonging to the victim/complainant, Virgil Barbaretto.
The subject was identified via surveillance tapes delivered to the NYPD by Barbaretto, and via the affidavits of co-defendants Hall and Dupre. The subject was summarily arrested at his place of residence, 79-09 34th Ave, Jackson Heights, NY, on 12/7/99.
CRIMINAL RECORD
PAROLE INTERVIEW
INMATE’S STATEMENT:
The subject was interviewed on 5/22/02 at Fishkill C.F. Regarding the I.O., subject admits participation. He continues to state the I.O. was his first offense, and, indeed, he has no prior criminal record.
Subject states his motivation for this act was for quick monetary gain. Subject states at the time of the I.O. he was unemployed and living in his parents’ residence. In contradiction to the testimonies of his co-defendants, subject states he never received any of the money that was removed from Virgil Caterers; and, indeed, at the occasion of his arrest he only had $7.00 in his possession.
INMATE STATUS REPORT FOR PAROLE BOARD APPEARANCE
Page 3
Subject states he is guilty for the I.O. Subject states he “has learned his lesson.”
INSTITUTIONAL ADJUSTMENT:
Subject has had difficulty making custodial adjustment. During the first nine months of his institutional incarceration, subject incurred numerous disciplinary infractions. Disciplinary infractions include failures to report, failure to maintain acceptable living area, and, most frequently, violently aggressive behavior toward both C.O.s and other inmates.
Subject’s custodial adjustment has improved. He has not incurred any disciplinary actions since September 2000. Subject credits improvement to a “spiritual awakening.”
Subject continues his educational pursuits, obtaining his G.E.D. in February 2002. He is currently enrolled in the College Bound program working toward his Associate’s Degree.
PROPOSED RESIDENCE:
The subject proposed to reside with his parents, Jose Batista Sr. and Lizette Batista, at the following address:
79-09 34th Ave
Apt. 52
Jackson Heights, NY 11372
(718)424-9131
PROPOSED EMPLOYMENT:
To be developed.
INMATE STATUS REPORT FOR PAROLE BOARD APPEARANCE
Page 4
INMATE’S PLANS:
The subject proposes to go back to school to finish his education and to be reunited with his family. He is seeking assistance through the Prisoner Reentry Institute.
SUPERVISION NEEDS:
Vocational training.
SPECIAL CONDITIONS RECOMMENDED:
Anger management therapy.
Substance abuse counseling with periodic drug testing.
Curfew.
STATE OF NEW YORK
EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT—DIVISION OF PAROLE
CERTIFICATE OF RELEASE TO PAROLE SUPERVISION
DETERMINATE—POST-RELEASE SUPERVISION
SENTENCE: 2-0/4-0 NYSID NO. 7153902J
BATISTA JR., JOSE, now confined in Fishkill CF who was convicted of BURGLARY 3rd (D) and sentenced in the county of Queens at a term of the County Court, Judge Richard J. Oh presiding on the 10th day of January 2000, for the term of 2-0/4-0 the maximum term of such sentence expires on the 10th day of January 2004, has agreed to abide by the conditions to which he has signed his name below, and is hereby released by virtue of the authority conferred by New York State Law.
Jose Batista Jr. is additionally subject to a period of 2 (two) years Post-Release Supervision, which will commence on the release date of June 15, 2002 and he will be under the legal jurisdiction of the Division of Parole until the Post-Release Supervision maximum expiration date of June 15, 2004.
Date of Release: 6/15/2002
Post-Release Supervision Period: 2 (two) years
Post-Release Supervision Maximum Expiration Date: 6/15/2004
Residence: 79-09 34th Ave
Apt. 52
Jackson Hts, NY, 11372
718-424-9131
I, Jose Batista Jr. 92G0192, voluntarily accept Parole Post-Release Supervision. I fully understand that my person, residence and property are subject to search and inspection. I understand that Parole Post-Release Supervision is defined by these Conditions of Release and all other conditions that may be imposed upon me by the Board of Parole or its representatives. I understand that my violation of these conditions may result in the revocation of my release.
CONDITIONS OF RELEASE
I will proceed directly to the area to which I have been released, and, within twenty-four hours of my release, make my arrival report to the Office of the Division of Parole unless other instructions are designated on my release agreement. Report to: P.O. Dimmick, SPO Hebert, Queens I Area Office 1010 Hazen St., East Elmhurst, NY 11370 718-546-5891
I will make office and/or written reports as directed.
I will not leave the State of New York or any other State to which I am released or transferred, or any area defined in writing by my Parole Officer without permission.
I will permit my Parole Officer to visit me at my residence and/or place of employment and I will permit the search and inspection of my person, residence and property. I will discuss any proposed changes in my residence, employment or program status with my Parole Officer. I understand that I have an immediate and continuing duty to notify my Parole Officer of any changes in my residence, employment or program status when circumstances beyond my control make prior discussion impossible.
I will reply promptly, fully, and truthfully to any inquiry of, or communication by, my Parole Officer or other representative of the Division of Parole.
I will notify my Parole Officer immediately any time I am in contact with, or arrested by, any law enforcement agency. I understand that I have a continuing duty to notify my Parole Officer of such contact or arrest.
I will not be in the company of, or fraternize with, any person I know to have a criminal record or whom I know to have been adjudicated a Youthful Offender, except for accidental encounters in public places, work, school, or in any other instance with the permission of my Parole Officer.
I will not behave in such manner as to violate the provisions of any law to which I am subject, which provide for a penalty of imprisonment, nor will my behavior threaten the safety or well-being of myself or others.
I will not own, possess, or purchase any shotgun, rifle, or firearm of any type without the written permission of my Parole Officer. I will not own, possess, or purchase any deadly weapon as defined in the Penal Law or any dangerous knife, dirk, razor, stiletto, or imitation pistol. In addition, I will not own, possess, or purchase any instrument readily capable of causing physical injury without a satisfactory explanation for ownership, possession, or purchase.
In the event that I leave the jurisdiction of th
e State of New York, I hereby waive my right to resist extradition to the State of New York from any state in the Union and from any territory or country outside the United States. This waiver shall be in full force and effect until I am discharged from Parole or Conditional Release. I fully understand that I have the right under the Constitution of the United States and under law to contest any effort to extradite me from another state and return me to New York, and I freely and knowingly waive this right as a condition of my Parole or Conditional Release.
I will not use or possess any drug paraphernalia or use or possess any controlled substance without proper medical authorization.
Special Conditions: I will seek, obtain, and maintain employment and/or an academic/vocational program.
I will submit to substance abuse testing as directed by the P.O.
I will participate in a substance abuse treatment program as directed by the P.O.
I will participate in an anger management program as directed by the P.O.
I will abide by a curfew established by the P.O.
I will cooperate with a mental health evaluation referral, and follow-up treatment as directed by the P.O.
I will not associate in any way or communicate by any means with (associates Conrad Hall and Giovanni Dupre) without the permission of the P.O.
I will cooperate with all medical referrals and treatment recommendations.
I will fully comply with the instructions of my Parole Officer and obey such special additional written conditions as he or she, a member of the Board of Parole, or an authorized representative of the Division of Parole, may impose.
I hereby certify that I have read and that I understand the foregoing conditions of my release and that I have received a copy of this Certificate of Release.
Signed this 15th day of June 2002
Releasee Tariq Batista
Witness J. Beardsley
3010PRS (12/00)
COPY TO INMATE
7
Reentry
Isabel sits in the front seat of a car, her painted toes wiggling out the window. On the dashboard, the vents are probably tilted upward so that the AC blasts up her skirt, cools off her crotch. Isabel stands on the corner, eating an arepa. Her chin shines with grease, which she doesn’t wipe off, which is not like her at all. Isabel sits in the back of a cab. Isabel climbs the stairs to the 7 train. Isabel pushes a baby carriage—but no, no, no, no, that’s impossible, it’s too soon. The rear doors of a van swing open and Isabel steps out, leaps to the street. The van advertises Carpet Cleaning Services, but Isabel holds no vacuum, no broom or mop. Isabel walks out of one of the jewelry stores on Seventy-fourth Street. She carries a little bag probably stuffed with gold chains, but wait a second, never mind, that woman is obviously not Isabel. That lady’s Indian, which Isabel is not, and she’s wearing high heels, which Isabel never wears. Isabel crosses the street at the intersection. Isabel jaywalks, gliding between moving cars. Stuck at the light, Isabel foolishly presses the green button on the corner. Isabel comes out of a pool hall, Isabel walks into a bank, Isabel sits behind a large plate-glass window while a Chinese lady files her nails, Isabel trips over her own feet and falls to the sidewalk, and when Tariq reaches out to grab her elbow and help her up, she pulls away from him and hustles down the street.
As he watches her run away, he feels something he’s been feeling all morning, something like a lump of ice caught in his throat. The woman’s handbag bounces as she motors down the block. The struts in her neck tighten. Tariq knows she wants to turn around and give him a look, but she won’t—he sees this in her neck—because he frightens her.
Isabel walks toward him, gives him a wide berth so that they don’t bump shoulders. He has been seeing Isabels all morning: at the Beacon train station; on the 6:50 a.m. to Grand Central; in the subway; out the windows of the elevated 7 train, many feet below the tracks, where Isabel was a lonely dot on the pavement. But there had been just one or two Isabel sightings at a time. Now that he’s off that train and in Jackson Heights, he sees the slight upward tilt of her nose on every woman’s face, her curly hair and copper skin, her mouth passing him on the right, the lips thick and full of blood. Everywhere he looks, he sees Isabel, and every time he sees Isabel, the ice in his throat turns to water.
But oh man this Isabel walking toward him, with her features all fuzzy … Tariq can’t be sure. Incarceration weakened his eyesight. Too early every evening, all the Fishkill lights would click off, except for a small bulb at the end of the corridor, by the CO station, and this bulb shot a golden sliver into his cell. He’d get out of bed and sit on the floor and bring the Book into this sliver. With his face pressed against the bars, he’d read and reread, his eyes straining in the dark. And so now the Isabel coming toward him looks all fuzzy, but she walks exactly like the real Isabel walks, with her head down and her soft hands scrunched into fists. Get ready, Tariq. This Isabel might actually be her.
He throws himself into the nearest store, where he crouches down low and peeks out the window. Lights flicker off the glass, red lights and yellow lights and white lights, all of them flashing from inside the store. Motors whir, machines beep. Along one wall, a counter stretches toward the back of the store, and behind that counter are cameras, phones, TV sets, DVD players, answering machines, pagers, antennae, and, with his hands tugging at his beard, an Arab man in a loose-fitting cream-colored robe. Along the other wall: more electronics, another counter, another Arab man. It takes Tariq a moment to understand that these men are not twins. Only one man and only one counter exists. The store’s other half is a mirror.
Tariq puts his hand flat against the window. He knows he’s not afraid to see Isabel. Not at all. Absolutely not. No, the reason he ran into this store is because he’s afraid she might see him. Before that can happen, certain moves need to be made.
From the Arab man, Tariq buys himself a wristwatch, which happens to be the very first item on his agenda. Coincidence? Is it some kind of accident that of all the stores on Roosevelt Avenue, he ducked into this one, an electronics joint he didn’t even know existed? Of course not. There are no accidents, happy or otherwise. Tariq has been put on a straight path.
In addition to the clothes he’s wearing (plain white T-shirt; natty, rubber-soled Converses; a pair of prisoner-made jeans that taper to an end just above his ankles), and in addition to the train ticket to Grand Central Station and the green sheet with parole stipulations and the nineteen Steri-Strips in his cheek, the Fishkill Correctional Facility gave Tariq upon his release two twenty-dollar bills. Gratis. For time served. Thanks for the memories. Earlier today, he used one of these twenties to buy a MetroCard, and the machine spat out his change, eighteen gold dollar coins that he’d never seen before in his life. He goes away and they change the currency? Seriously? Instead of Washington or Lincoln, the coin shows a young girl, with a baby asleep on her shoulder. Even she, this moonfaced girl, reminds him of Isabel. With her coins he pays for his watch.
It is a Casio F-91W, a water-resistant model (not quite the same as waterproof, but so what?) with an alarm, stopwatch, digital numbers, and a light rubber wristband. At a cost of twelve dollars, it is the only watch he can afford. He presses a button on the side, which should cause the time to illuminate. Don’t worry, the Arab man tells him. That particular function will work better at night. After paying for the watch, Tariq turns away from the counter, embarrassed by the width of his grin.
When exactly did the lights click off at the Fishkill Correctional Facility? Tariq doesn’t know. It never mattered. Calendars, sure, to mark the passing of days—but wristwatches? Hours? Minutes? What use could they have in a place of controlled movement, where there was always someone telling you when to line up for head counts and contraband checks and cafeteria meals of overcooked beef as leathery as a dragon’s tongue. But it’s a brand-new morning, Tariq. Today marks the first day in two and a half years that he has had a reason to know the time. As the Book says:
It is
He who gave the sun its radiance, the moon its lustre, and appointed its stations so that you may compute years and numbers. God did not create them but with deliberation. He distinctly explains His signs for those who can understand.
Tariq takes his Casio F-91W digital watch outside the store, where it looks flimsier under the sun’s natural light. The wristband feels greasy, as if it’s already been worn. He searches the watch’s face for scratches. Obviously what’s happened here is that the Arab man saw Tariq come into the store with his busted sneakers and his prisoner-made jeans, and he sized him up as some kind of punk. Sold him a cheap, used, worn-out, greasy Casio. Tariq moves the watch up and down on his wrist. If he were to go back into the store … although, of course, he won’t. No way to prove the watch is used. And, more important, Tariq has his agenda to consider. But what if? What if he went back into the store and smashed this watch against the man’s face? His nose would shatter, of course. And probably his lips and teeth and jaw. And the watch? Would that break, too? Tariq suspects that it would.
Reentry day, baby. First day home. First day of freedom. In the early months of his incarceration he made lists of things he wanted to do on this day: go straight home and take a three-hour shower, drink beers at Budd’s Bar, shoot pool, go bowling, sit in a recliner, walk down to Travers Park and dominate the handball courts, hit up Sammy’s Halal, sleep in a bed with three dozen pillows, go to a Mets game, smoke a dub, go to Numbers, Records, & Tapes and buy the new Nas, the new Noreaga, the new Mobb Deep, visit his old grammar school, Our Lady of Fatima, and apologize to all the nuns, snort lines off a CD case, tear up some black and white and Asian and Latina pussy.