Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [60]
As I rehearsed my role as Siegfried I asked my friend Liu Fengtian what he thought of my portrayal of the prince. He said my dancing was good, but I looked like a Chinese peasant boy pretending to be a prince. I knew what he said was true. I had no problem with the dance steps but I knew nothing of European royalty. Even my teachers didn’t know how a prince would carry himself. What a prince represented was in direct conflict with the values of communism.
In desperation I watched a few old Russian films so I could study a prince’s walk, the way he held his arms and hands and how he looked at people.
I danced that opening night of Swan Lake at the Beijing Exhibition Hall. The performance went well. Yet I couldn’t get rid of the “peasant prince” image and I was not satisfied. My aim was eventually to be as good a prince as the Western dancers, be that handsome prince and not just a poor peasant boy acting out a role.
Then, soon after that performance, an event occurred that would change my life forever.
Officials from the Ministry of Culture informed us that a fine choreographer and brilliant teacher, the artistic director of the Houston Ballet, was to teach two master classes at our academy. He was part of the first cultural delegation from America ever to visit communist China. The choreographer’s name was Ben Stevenson.
SEVENTEEN
On the Way to the West
Twenty students, including me, were selected to attend Ben Stevenson’s classes. I was exhilarated with his approach. He emphasized fluidity of movement rather than strict technique. I found him fascinating and inspiring.
After the second class, Ben offered our academy two scholarships for his annual summer school at the Houston Ballet Academy in Texas. Incredible, unbelievable news! The chance to leave China, to see the West! But Ben was told that he couldn’t choose the students himself. The academy would nominate who would go.
Ben gave the invitation letter to the academy officials in March. He expected the students to be in Houston by July. Then the two students were chosen. One was a boy called Zhang Weiqiang. The other was me.
We were ecstatic. So was the whole school. It seemed too impossible to be true! How could I be going to America? How could I?
The academy officials thought it would be difficult for us to obtain our passports and visas so quickly, and didn’t pursue the matter seriously until they received a phone call from the Ministry of Culture a few weeks later. None of them realized that Ben Stevenson had powerful friends in America. One was George H. W. Bush, who had just finished serving as the first US envoy to China after President Richard Nixon’s visit in 1972. His wife, Barbara, was a trustee of the Houston Ballet. Both were well respected by the Chinese government. George Bush had formed a good relationship with Deng Xiaoping: his political connections no doubt ensured the acceptance of this scholarship invitation. Zhang Weiqiang and I were granted permission from the Ministry of Culture to go to Houston very quickly.
Our visas were approved by the American consulate in Beijing in a matter of days. We were overwhelmed with excitement. But once the euphoria faded away, panic struck. Zhang and I could speak no English. An English tutor gave us a crash course for a few days, starting with the English alphabet and ending with simple phrases such as yes, no, good morning, hello, and good-bye. But I really had no idea