A tightknit group of about 25 people has kept vigil outside Elián González's former
 Little Havana home every night of the 198 nights since federal agents raided the
 house April 22.

 BY LUISA YANEZ

 With the boy gone, most of Elián González's hardcore supporters in Miami moved
 on with their lives, back to their jobs, families and daily routines.

 But a tightknit legion of about 25 people hasn't let go, although Elián returned to
 Cuba in June.

 Every single day, they still camp out at the Little Havana house, keeping a
 symbolic vigil where the boy lived before federal agents raided the house on April
 22.

 They haven't missed a day, they say. That's 198 days as of today, to be exact.

 Before Elián was reunited with his father, many of the devotees had been regulars
 outside the house. After they took the boy, the house still called to them, they
 say.

 Now, they are like palace guards on an endless watch. ``I can't explain to you
 why I still come here everyday,'' said Norma Torres, 60, a housewife and one of
 the most fervent of the Elián faithful.

 ``I used to come and see Elián playing in the yard,'' she said, choking as tears
 welled up. ``He was like part of my family, and I lost him. I want to be here in his
 memory. I have faith he'll return one day.''

 They are addicted to a routine that others long abandoned. Most will tell you that
 something about Elián's plight touched them deeply, almost spiritually.

 Following their calling, they arrive, usually as night falls on weekdays, carrying
 folding lawn chairs, coolers and small platters of food. The children who come
 with their parents brings their homework, or coloring books to pass the time.

 They set up in a semicircle in front of the chain-link fence at the boy's former
 home at 2319 NW Second St. The group represents a cross section of the exile
 community. They are as young as 5 and as old as 70. They are retirees,
 housewives, singles and family men. Most are working-class people, some
 employed, some in between jobs.

 When media or visitors stop at the house, as they did last week, they spring into
 action, flashing the pro-Elián signs they keep handy.

 On their downtime, there is some socializing. They pass the time talking about
 their lives, their relatives, politics, Cuba, but mostly, Elián. They call it a night by
 11 p.m. On weekends, they might show up during the day. Some stay hours,
 others less. Only a handful, the real die-hards, come everyday. They say there is
 someone there everyday, in the name of Elián.

 ``With all my heart, I admire their devotion,'' said Delfin González, 63, one of the
 boy's great-uncles, who last week bought the two-bedroom house and plans to
 turn it into a center, a haven for Elián's memory.

 But the regulars see themselves as the true protectors of the house, the memory
 of the boy and the hope that one day he'll return.

 ``We'll never forget him and what happened here,'' said Torres, referring to the
 early-morning raid.

 Suggestions that they are fanatics, akin to Elvis Presley followers, offends them.
 So does advice from some that they ``get a life.''

 ``I have a life,'' said part-time waitress Elisa García, 28, who brings her 5-year-old
 daughter Casándra, who usually colors to pass the time. ``I have my daughter and
 my job. But after we have dinner, we come here and sit and talk. It makes me feel
 better, I don't know why.''

 The group has become a ragtag family, each of whom understands their devotion
 better than their own families.

 Antonio Liberón, 40, a trucker who is single and lives two blocks away, is another
 regular. He fell into the habit of going to the house in the months the González
 family fought to keep the boy. He made new friends. ``These people are like my
 family,'' Liberón said.

 ``I look forward to coming here. I feel we're all doing something important
 together.''

 Asked if they plan to give up their vigil as the one-year anniversary of Elián's
 arrival in South Florida approaches, their answer is no.

 ``I'm here to stay,'' Torres said.