Elian was having trouble sleeping. He kept climbing out of his little race-car bed and going into the living room, where his great-uncle Lazaro lay on the white leather couch. The boy had been watching his relatives fight over him all this time; he had seen the news reports. It had been another long day. He snuggled next to Lazaro, who stroked the boy's hair. "I'm afraid. Are they coming for me?" Elian asked again and again. Lazaro tried to comfort him, explaining in a calm voice that everything would be O.K. "Relax," Lazaro said in Spanish. "Relax, Eliancito."
Donato Dalrymple...
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