By James Anderson
Associated Press Writer
Wednesday, April 12, 2000

CARDENAS, Cuba –– It was a far cry from the frenzy of media, police and protesters in Miami: In Elian Gonzalez's rural Cuban hometown, neighbors and friends went about their business Wednesday amid quiet hopes – even expectations – that the 6-year-old would soon be coming home.

The clip-clop of horse-drawn buggy taxis was all that broke the silence outside the Gonzalez home in Cardenas, a humble house on a dusty side street off the city center. A cardboard sign fixed to the door read simply, in pencil: "Elian's neighborhood
wants him here."

No one was home; no one gathered outside.

"We're calm, but worried," neighbor Delia Rosa Ogeda, 61, said as she spoke through a slatted window two doors down the street. "For me, for all of us, Juan Miguel and Elian are sons."

There were no evident preparations for a celebration should Juan Miguel Gonzalez and his son reunite in the United States, or even return to Cuba some four months after the boy was rescued off the Florida coast.

Eleven people, including Elian's mother, who was divorced from his father, died when their boat sank during the illegal crossing from Cuba to the United States. Elian's Miami relatives are fighting to keep him in the United States.

Demanding his parental rights, Juan Miguel Gonzalez went to the United States last week to claim his son.

"We're waiting for good news," Ogeda said, noting that residents were heartened by U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno's efforts to forge a reunion. "We know there are many very humane people among the Americans."

It's vacation week for pupils in Cardenas, and at Elian's Marcelo Salado primary school, a few preschool children skipped and clapped in time with two tutors. Elian's portrait adorned the green walls along with those of President Fidel Castro and
revolutionary hero Ernesto "Che" Guevara.

"When he comes home, we want him to live as he did before," with friends and family and out of the spotlight, said Lazara Rolando, a 30-year-old nurse. Indicating the tots playing happily inside the school courtyard, she said: "Look at these children – you see how they are?"

Down the road, about 20 uniformed schoolchildren – some girls wearing "Free Elian" T-shirts – paraded into another schoolyard to hear the national anthem.

"We're marching for Elian," a young girl shouted.

News of the custody battle filters into this city, a two-hour drive east of Havana, by state radio and by word of mouth. Here and there, posters showing Elian's face behind prison-like bars – blue with white stars – adorn doors and wall. A local museum exhibit devoted to Cuba's fight to repatriate the child drew several visitors early Wednesday.

Residents marked their hours not by developments in Miami and Washington but with the day-to-day tasks of living: buying bread loaves, lining up outside stores, waiting for rides to work. Downtown, cafes blared tunes by Ricky Martin and Cher.

Underneath it all, though, was a sense of anticipation.

"We will go in the streets" to celebrate, said Ogeda, Gonzalez's neighbor. "You know the Cuban people. We are going to welcome him as if he came back from the dead, with joy."

                                    © 2000 The Associated Press