Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [35]
But even then I began to wonder. If China was such a rich country, why didn’t my family have enough food to eat? Of course I didn’t blame Chairman Mao. It was Chinese imperial corruption, foreign invasion, or Chiang Kaishek’s Guomindang regime that were to blame. I was eternally thankful to Chairman Mao that he had saved us. Only he could lead us to greater prosperity and happiness.
A week later another trip was organized, this time to the Summer Palace in northwest Beijing, but just the thought of the bus trip there and back was enough to make me feel sick. I told one of the political heads that I didn’t feel well and he gave me permission to stay behind.
I went exploring the university grounds. There was a small orchard on the southeast corner near the gate—mainly apple and peach trees. They were bare at this time of year, but I could just see new shoots popping out of the branches: spring wasn’t far away.
To the north there was an empty stretch of land. I was immediately drawn to it and as a curious peasant boy I soon found myself digging my fingers down into the half-frozen soil to see if there was anything planted, but it seemed completely barren. The land was surrounded by a chest-high barbed-wire fence and I could see a row of young weeping willow trees just this side of it.
I ran over to the willows and began to climb one. These trees triggered such sadness in me. I saw the long drooping leaves and thought of my own sad tears. I wondered if the trees suffered hardship and sadness too. I climbed up and sat quietly inside the long leaves, leaned my head against the trunk, and whispered my homesickness and loneliness into the trees. My tears fell down my face just like the leaves of the weeping willows.
I felt better after my secret confession to the trees. This refuge became my secret hiding place.
I wandered back to the canteen just in time for lunch and noticed a boy sitting by himself at one of the music academy’s tables. He was a bit younger than me and looked lonely and sad, so I collected my food and walked over to him. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” I asked.
Shyly he shook his head.
I sat down opposite him. “My name is Li Cunxin. I’m from Qingdao, a student in the dance academy.”
“I’m Zhang Xiaojia,” he said, “from Henan Province.”
“Why didn’t you go with the others to the Summer Palace?”
“I felt sick. What about you?” he asked.
“I didn’t feel well either,” I replied. “What musical instrument do you play?”
“No one has been assigned one yet. Our teachers will test us and then decide what instrument we’ll learn.”
“Did you play anything before you came?”
He shook his head. “They only chose me because of my long fingers—and my parents are peasants. What about you? Did you dance before?”
“No, I’ve never danced before. I didn’t even know what ballet was. I still don’t. I just had long toes and a bit of flexibility. My parents are peasants too.”
“Do you play badminton?” he asked suddenly.
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you, just follow me!”
So after lunch I followed him to his dormitory, where he took out two racquets and a feathery shuttlecock from under his bed. We ran outside and played badminton in the space between the two dormitory buildings for hours. Those were the happiest few hours I’d spent since leaving my family. For once we weren’t being judged or criticized. We just enjoyed each other’s company. Zhang and I became good friends, and that more than anything helped ease the intense loneliness and homesickness we both experienced.
From the minute we arrived at the academy, we were expected to wash and mend our own clothes. At home, my niang had done all our sewing and washing. I missed my niang terribly. I so dearly wanted to hear her voice, but