BY ELAINE DE VALLE

 A crucifix and a photo of Elián González are nailed to the side of the Little Havana house where the 6-year-old once lived. Huge American and Cuban flags flutter above its frame.

 It is empty now. Lázaro González and his family, who sheltered the boy during his five months here, have moved six miles away to West Miami. They have traded the public stage where the Elián saga played out for a mint-green home on an anonymous, tree-lined street. There are no reminders of the predawn raid when the boy was whisked away.

 Despite the distance, they can't escape the memories that haunt them daily.

 "Let's not say that we think of him 24 hours a day, that would not be normal,'' said the boy's great-uncle, Lázaro González, who led a public battle to keep Elián in the United States. ``But we miss him every day. We remember the good times . . . and the bad.''

 From the time the boy was rescued at sea on Thanksgiving Day 1999 until the April raid, the González family's lives revolved around Elián. He survived the journey from Cuba but his mother, Elisabeth Brotons Rodriguez, perished at sea. While the Miami family fought to keep the boy in the United States, Elián's father in Cuba battled for his return. A year ago today, Elián was removed from Little Havana in a raid that sparked protests in Miami.

 These days, Lázaro does not smile easily. He sometimes visits the Little Havana house -- slated to become an Elián museum -- and sits quietly in the backyard.

 On a recent visit, his eyes water as he talks about the boy, now living in Cárdenas, Cuba, with his father. He looked past the building next door and neighbors, past the tree where Elián plucked oranges while sitting on Lázaro's shoulders. He focused on nothing in particular.

 Lázaro hasn't spoken to the boy or his father, Juan Miguel, since their return to Cuba in June.

 "That does bother us,'' he said, sitting in the backyard where the boy played.

 A great-aunt, Caridad González, says she used to get bits of news before calls to Cuba became scarce. Even so, the family's number in Cuba has been changed.

 "They don't give the new number to anyone,'' she said.

 The family monitors the boy through the fleeting images from Cuba -- footage of Fidel Castro patting the boy on the head or photos of a March visit by South African President Thabo Mbeki.

 "He's a trophy for Fidel Castro,'' Lázaro González said. "But look closely. He does not have the same expression, the same face, as when he was here, living free.

 "Castro, not Juan Miguel, has custody of the boy. I have two sisters there, and even they can't see him.''

 But his brother, Manuel González, has talked to the family in Cuba by phone. The only uncle in Miami to support the father's decision to reclaim Elián, Manuel González visited Cárdenas in December for the boy's birthday.

 He spent 21 days there with family, but did not want to discuss the trip.

 "I am satisfied that he is doing fine,'' Manuel González said Wednesday. He still believes he was right to support Elián's reunification with his father, even though it cost him friends and his once-close family. Manuel and his wife once lived next door to Lázaro, his youngest brother. Now, they don't speak.

 "One day, one year, 10 years . . . it won't matter how much time passes,'' he said.

 Too many words can't be taken back, he said. Still anguished by the very public airing of what he said should have been a private family matter, he shies away from the press. He got an unlisted phone number.

 "We want peace.''

 His sister, Caridad González -- who visited Elián here almost daily -- wants divine intervention.

 "God has to grant us a miracle,'' said the 70-year-old woman who left Cuba 35 years ago. "God doesn't grant liberty to someone just to take it away.''

 She has been increasingly somber as the anniversary of the raid approaches. Some of the relatives spent Easter weekend at the old house, watching videos of Elián's
 days here: A trip to Disney World, playing in the yard with his cousins, waving at the crowds outside the house.

 "And it was a terrible sadness,'' Caridad González said. "Everyone cried.''

 Except Marisleysis. She doesn't speak to the media. And she refuses to return to the Little Havana house. The cousin, portrayed as a surrogate mother for Elián, is
 "undergoing counseling'' because "once you start talking about the incident she just breaks down,'' said family attorney Frank Quintero.

 Since Delfín González bought the house to turn it into a museum, it sits empty. A backyard play gym has been disassembled and stored -- so it won't be stolen. Elián's toys are stored away.

 Lázaro still hears echoes of Elián at the house, practicing his numbers and colors. "He loved learning English.''

 Said Delfín: "His laughter is in the air. I don't miss him because he is all around us. He lives in my heart.''

 Herald staff writer Carol Rosenberg contributed to this report.

                                    © 2001