IN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST: THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS INTO OUR FUTURE DARKLY

By Juan Montoya
 There were many of us in a holding cell awaiting our transfer from the Old County Jail (the Judicial building) to our respective centers.
Some were bound across Harrison Street at the Ruben Torres Correctional Center. But most were to be transported to the Rucker-Carrizales Center in Olmito. One, a born-again Christian, bore the brunt of scorn from a hardened inmate barely 19 who taunted him for giving testimony to his salvation in the cell saying that most conversions he had seen in jail didn't last past the jail house doors.
"Tell me the truth," the contentious youth (third charge of aggravated assault) said to the older inmate,"Did you ever read the Bible when you were on the outside?"
Unwilling to anger the orange-clad giant standing defiantly in the middle of the cell, the other inmate merely looked away and shook his head.
The tension in the cell was palpable. Then, to everyone's relief, guards took away the scornful inmate to court. He had been waiting there for three hours and expected to be sent to "State," any one of several Texas State Correction units across the state. He had made it a point to engage everyone in conversation and then managed to make them feel as if they were less "bad" than himself.
"Voy a agarrar numero," he had boasted, using jail slang for getting a system number that he would carry for the rest of his natural life. Once one has a number, it is a sign among longtime inmates and recidivists that you have arrived, that you are one of the prison society. He was actually looking forward to being sent upstate and making his bones with the bad boys.
Once he was gone, the entire group was moved to an inner holding cell, a solid concrete bunker with a high ceiling and one door with a small window that could only be opened by someone from the outside. It was cold everywhere, but here more so because there was no circulation of air, only the AC vent near the ceiling.
By now there were only four of us, the born-again, myself and two young-looking inmates standing 5"1" or 5'2' at the most with the tips of tattoos peeking out from under their collars. Both of the young inmates arms were covered with them.
Both had gone to court and were awaiting transport to Carrizales. They immediately became intrigued with each others "ink" and started talking. They both had belonged to gangs in their respective cities, one in Browntown and another in Harlinchon. Both had smoked marijuana "toques" since they were preteens. Both smoked "la piedra," or "conchona" – crack cocaine.
"Yo consozco a todos las piedreras, homey," the young tough from Brownsville boasted. "Toda la Marketa, a la Millie, la Mary y la Paloma. Puro tranze, Bra."
The other mentioned names that only someone growing up in Harlingen would know. Since the Brownsville inmate was going to be let out for time served, the Harlingen youth was telling him who to look up in his hometown when he got out.
Then both – wearing handcuffs chained around their waist and foot shackles – took turns admiring the craftsmanship of their tattoos. The Brownsville youth had a dragon that stretched from his inside arm under his left shoulder and snaking its way to the lower part of his rib cage on his lower right side.
Then the Harlingen inmate who was sentenced to three years for armed robbery – at the state rate of three days for one, a year – told the Brownsville inmate to pull down his collar from behind to show a fully-inked torso and back with a detailed orgy between a half dozen scantly-clothed females in front and a scene from heaven featuring the Virgin of Guadalupe as its centerpiece. That trumped the Brownsville inmates lame dragon. But the victor wasn't done.
"Wacha, homey," he said and flexed his pectorals and abdomen. The women in the picture started to move and appeared to be engaged in a sexual free-for-all.
"Ta bulle, homey," the other inmate said admiringly. "Next time I get inside I'm going to get one. You did that with one point?"
 Prison reformers say that rehabilitation is possible within our nation's correctional institutions. But if what we see in Cameron County's jails are only a microcosm of what awaits our society and our coming generations, it is indeed a dark future that awaits us.