By Joel Achenbach
                  Washington Post Staff Writer

                  MIAMI—This is the American experience of Elian Gonzalez: living with
                  relatives in a home under siege from an O.J. trial's worth of TV crews,
                  swarms of cops and beefy private security guards, and a 24-hour crowd of
                  exiles. Little Havana is at full boil. Elian is right in the middle, spiritually and
                  geographically, in this cream-colored house near the corner of Flagler
                  Street and 22nd Avenue.

                  Just inside the chain-link fence are two large flags--one American, one
                  Cuban. The exiles are now at war with the governments of both countries.

                  All the rage and frustration of four decades of exile have been channeled
                  into the legal battle over the future of Elian. It's like a poker game where all
                  the players have bet the limit, then thrown in their credit cards, their
                  watches, their cell phones, the shirts off their backs. They've bet their
                  souls.

                  Castro is in this hand to the bitter end, as are President Clinton and Janet
                  Reno. Al Gore, who has an instinct for the politically profitable, decided
                  this week to break with Clinton and Reno and place a side bet.

                  The case has no obvious solution that is satisfactory to everyone. Castro's
                  plan to send Elian's father, classmates and half of Elian's village to live with
                  Elian in Washington during the appeals process seems rather bizarre and
                  complicated. The Castro plan doesn't inspire confidence that the end to
                  this case is in sight. A simpler plan would be for Castro to resign, endorse
                  a transition to democracy, and let the United States and Cuba henceforth
                  behave like two normal countries. Cuba becomes Canada. Probably an
                  unlikely scenario.

                  It is far too late to hope that everyone will simply calm down and let the
                  bureaucrats decide the outcome. The passion of the Miami exiles cannot
                  be waved away. There are rallies and marches breaking out all over; the
                  other night, many thousands of people formed a human cross in the heart
                  of Little Havana, at the intersection of Celia Cruz Way (Southwest Eighth
                  Street, better known as Calle Ocho) and Gen. Maximo Gomez Avenue
                  (22nd Avenue). Needless to say, the case has taken on the feeling of a
                  religious crusade. The chants of "Libertad! Libertad!" gave way to the
                  Lord's Prayer.

                  People shined flashlights into the sky, a compelling image for the TV
                  helicopters. When the rally ended, a good chunk of the crowd marched to
                  Elian's house, waving Cuban flags, as motorists honked rapid-fire to show
                  their support. This was not an angry crowd so much as a defiant one.
                  There was even a note of celebration, of pride--people were smiling and
                  cheering. The crowd, after all, was on a mission of protection. They would
                  protect the boy from harm, protect him from Castro.

                  A policeman on horseback raised a fist in solidarity.

                  Angie Otano, who arrived from Cuba 37 years ago, said that if the
                  government tries to return Elian to his father in Cuba, the Miami exiles "are
                  going to go out in the streets and do whatever needs to be done to deal
                  with what I think is a crime." She echoed what many people are saying
                  about Miami native Janet Reno, who was once highly popular among
                  Cuban Americans: "I don't think she should come to Miami right now. She
                  would be in danger."

                  There are those who are invoking the possibility of "another Waco."
                  People are ready to die for Elian. Castro is Hitler. His nation has no
                  freedom of speech, no freedom of religion. He locks up and tortures
                  dissidents. You cannot send a boy back to a place run by a monster.

                  The stated desire of the Clinton administration has been to see the case
                  handled according to the law, without contamination from politics. As if!
                  The situation is now politically out of control--the mayor of Miami-Dade
                  County all but seceded from the Union the other day. A happy ending at
                  this point--a resolution that allows Elian to have a normal childhood,
                  somewhere--would almost require a miracle. Elian needs those dolphins to
                  come to the rescue again--the dolphins that, he said, propped him up when
                  he was on the verge of drowning in the Gulf Stream.

                  The dolphins are just one reason that the exiles call Elian the Miracle Boy.
                  People say the image of the Virgin Mary appeared on a window pane of a
                  bank in Little Havana near the house where Elian is living. Then Elian's
                  Miami relatives discovered another image of the Virgin, this time on a
                  mirror.

                  There is now always a crowd outside the home, behind barricades.

                  "The boy has a saint protecting him," said Jorge Gonzalez, no relation. He
                  is one of the regulars here. He carried a video camera, and said he'd taken
                  footage of the Virgin in the mirror. He said that when Elian was found, after
                  two days at sea, he wasn't even sunburned. Moreover, everyone who has
                  caused a problem for Elian has ended up in the hospital, he said.

                  Mary Rodriguez, who lives directly across from Elian's house, had to
                  agree. "I don't want to sound fanatical, but something gives," she said.

                  A moment later there was a loud noise. The barricades had given way. The
                  crowd busted through and surged toward the house where Elian lives.
                  They quickly formed a line in front of the home, a human chain of sorts.
                  "Elian, amigo, Miami esta contigo!" they chanted. Miami is with you.

                  It was a noisy and chaotic moment, but without violence. A few
                  impassioned exiles shouted into the bright lights of TV cameras. People
                  were coming and going in the house itself, and moving rapidly through the
                  yard, but there was no sign of Elian. It was, after all, past his bedtime.