He seems like any anonymous laborer at rest on a Sunday morning, taking pride in a well-kept lawn, anticipating a family lunch of creamy-style arroz con pollo.

 His hands bear callouses from hours of laying tile, a vocation he had decided to learn late in life. But he displays them with evident pride as he relaxes in his living room, at the side of his wife of 20 years.

 But what seems like a regular Sunday is a savored feast day for 62-year-old Hector Cornillot, recently released by immigration authorities from the Krome detention center after nearly a year on deportation hold.

 ``Felíz. Felíz,'' is how Cornillot describes himself today. Joyous. ``When I see myself here, in a peaceful and loving home, I wonder how I ever could have exchanged this for 13 years in jail. The thought just doesn't fit into my head.'' Former bomber Hector Cornillot had been on deportation hold since serving a 12-year sentence for cocaine peddling.

 The last time I saw Cornillot, he wore the red inmate garb of convicted felons at Krome in West Miami-Dade, his fate in the hands of the U.S. Immigration and
 Naturalization Service.

 The now-repentant convicted bomber of the 1960s and 1970s had been on deportation hold since serving a 12-year sentence for cocaine peddling.

 He was trapped by a 1996 law that allowed the INS to deport or indefinitely detain non-U.S. citizens with aggravated felony convictions. Contemplating his future one afternoon in May, Cornillot deposited his faith in the INS' review process. He hoped to show immigration authorities that he was a changed man, distanced from his explosive past.

 I had my doubts about his chances. Even before last week's statement by Attorney General John Ashcroft, vowing to lock up immigrant felons deemed dangerous, harsh immigration laws closed in on Cornillot.

 In addition to this, on the outside, his case had been all but forgotten in the city where Cornillot once tossed explosives into a travel agency that dispatched packages to Cuba, where he once had joined the chaos of a violent era in a swell of misplaced patriotism.

 His is not one of the ``patriot'' names flung about on Spanish-language radio in attempts to raise funds for extremist causes. He has no sterling collection of political
 advocates, no list of politicians, radio announcers or prominent militant brothers. He has not been canonized.

 Unlike the unrepentant exile terrorists still serving prison terms for their crimes, Cornillot, who now calls terrorist acts ``stupid'' and ``backward,'' had no direct line to
 people of political influence.

 But he had a devoted wife, Teresita, who had visited him at a half-dozen corrections facilities in 13 years and had canvassed the grass roots, collecting about 300
 supportive letters from relatives, friends and potential employers. And, apparently, that made a difference.

 On June 19, Cornillot was paroled from Krome. He must serve four years of probation, must meet every week with a parole officer, provide details of his activities and stay away from other convicts.

 Cornillot believes he'll have no problems complying. He says he doesn't feel the urge to even engage in Cuban politics. Besides, he knows his views no longer coincide with those of his former militant comrades. He now believes the solution to Cuba's woes is to replicate an American-style insurance system for the island.

 ``This country is not controlled by laws -- it's controlled by the insurance companies,'' he says, believing this to be a good thing, both pragmatic and profitable.

 He also believes in chipping away at the ice between islanders and exiles, to foment ``an exchange of possibilities.'' He believes the embargo is a waste of time. But
 Cornillot doesn't plan to spread the word anytime soon. He has other plans.

 ``I want to build a garden,'' he says.

                                    © 2001 The Miami Herald