BY PAUL BRINKLEY-ROGERS

 At noon, in a scene out of the Buena Vista Social Club, 50 couples with their faces
 aglow glided across the dance floor at a Little Havana center for the elderly, separated
 for that one brief moment from thoughts of Elian.

 When the music ended on Friday, and talk of the probably imminent return of the
 little boy to Havana began, the smiles vanished. Those who had danced choked
 up when asked how they will react. An anguished woman said she cannot bear
 thinking that Cuban President Fidel Castro will have this as a moment of triumph,
 and that Little Havana will have to endure pain.

 ``I'll go mad,'' said Isaura Felipe, an elegant 86-year-old who added, bitterly, that
 she had given up a house and four rental properties in Havana when she left
 ``forever'' in 1962. ``I will cry, because that would be giving Fidel Castro the
 pleasure, and he will be making fun of us.''

 CURSING CASTRO

 Felipe clutched the gold crucifix around her neck. ``That crazy old man,'' she said,
 her voice shaking, of the Cuban leader. ``That weasel! . . . How can this great
 country let him win?''

 Emotions at the Little Havana Activities and Nutrition Center on Calle Ocho were
 running high, fueled by rumor, the voices of Radio Mambi, and by television news
 reports.

 These elderly Cuban Americans had to think the unthinkable: After weeks of
 prayer and impassioned conversation, Elian would almost certainly soon be going
 home.

 To their home. To a Cuba ruled by Fidel Castro, who they fear will transform Elian
 from the grinning imp they love into a grim-faced poster boy for the revolution. The
 thought of that causes many of them to shake with anger, and to express a
 grandparent's sorrow for the loss of a grandchild.

 ``I can't bear to think about it,'' said Juan de Dios Gutierrez, 75, banging his metal
 cane on the floor. ``Can God be letting us down? [President] Clinton, and [U.S.
 Attorney General Janet] Reno are kicking us in the a--, like the tyrant, Castro. But
 God? Please God, no!''

 CONCEDING DEFEAT

 Elena Escudero said she had already dealt with the ignominy of sending Elian
 back by deciding in advance that ``Elian is already in Cuba.''

 She said this forcefully, so that the surprised elders sitting around her could see
 that she was not joking.

 ``All along, I've wanted him to stay here,'' said Escudero, dressed in high fashion
 as if she were going to a Havana garden party in the old days. ``He was left here
 for us -- for this community -- by his mother. But when I think about him going, I
 think that he may have gone already, that he has been taken from us, that he's
 already there.

 ``I have convinced myself of this!'' she said, tears welling in her eyes.

 Adalberto Celanda sat looking at the linoleum floor when he was asked how he
 would handle that moment when he sees Elian boarding the plane on his TV
 screen.

 ``Well,'' said this big man. ``Well.'' He struggled for words. ``I can't think about
 that,'' he blurted. ``That, no!

 `POOR CHILD'

 ``God is good,'' he said. ``I can't think of anyone I know who will accept that
 decision. To send him back is to send him to prison for the rest of his life.

 ``He will not belong to his father. He will belong to Fidel Castro and Castro will
 educate him, send him to the fields [to cut sugar cane] for seven years and put
 him in the military. That will be Elian, the poor child!''

 Isaura Felipe's sister, 92-year-old Dolores Gonzalez, had taken in all this heartfelt
 indignation.

 She sat, her back straight, her hands crossed on her lap, waiting for a ride that
 would take her from the center to her Little Havana home, where she said she
 knew the airwaves would be sending her bad news.

 ``Every time I see this child,'' she said, ``I want to cry. I can't forget that Elian's
 mother died for him. She gave him her place in life to grow up into a fine, big boy.

 ``Yes, he will be gone. We will be left to remember. The dictator will have his
 day.''

                     Copyright 2000 Miami Herald