Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [61]
We went to the Ministry of Culture to be briefed by the officials. The head of the Educational Bureau, Wang Zicheng, met us briefly. He spoke with a gentle, persuasive voice. “Work hard while you’re there, show your American hosts how hard Chinese people work. Don’t forget that you’re representing China and the Chinese people. Treasure this opportunity. Bring back knowledge. Resist capitalist influences and make sure you exercise your communist judgment.” He shook our hands and left. His assistant continued to lecture us. “Be polite at all times. If you don’t understand what people are saying, just say ‘yes’ and smile. Never say ‘no.’ ‘No’ is a negative word. People might be offended.”
She then took us into a room that contained a few racks of used Western-style suits and ties. She said they had a small supply mainly for government delegations going to foreign countries. We had never worn a suit before, only Mao jackets, but we were told to borrow one each. We tried on quite a few but they were all too big for our skinny bodies. The shoulders still came halfway down our arms and we had to fold up the sleeves. We also borrowed two ties and a suitcase each.
Zhang and I, to our utter astonishment, soon became a news item in China. We were the first official exchange artists between China and America since Chairman Mao took power in 1949.
I telephoned my parents for the first time since leaving home all those years ago. My second brother, Cunyuan, came to the commune phone first. “Ni hao, Erga!” I screamed excitedly.
“Ni hao, Cunxin! What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding concerned. Something dreadful must surely have happened for me to telephone.
“Nothing! I am going to America for six weeks!”
There was silence. “You’re joking,” he said.
“No! I’m not joking. I am going to America with another student,” I replied.
“My brother is going to America!” Cunyuan screamed loudly to the people in the commune office. I could hear a roar of cheers. “I can’t believe this!” he continued. “America! Niang is here …”
“Jing Hao!” my niang called.
“Niang, how are you?” I asked. I was so happy to hear her voice.
“I’m fine. Are you really going to America?” she asked.
“Yes, I’ll be leaving in a few days.”
“Ah! Why didn’t you tell us earlier? We could have sent you some apples and dried shrimps to take on the road.”
“I am going by plane. No food is allowed on the airplanes.”
“On the airplane? How unthinkable! My son is going to fly on the airplane!” I heard her say to the people in the office.
“Please be careful. Stay away from the evil people in America.” My niang sounded worried.
“I’m going with another student. We’ll look after each other. I’ve also met the American dance teacher from Houston. His name is Ben. He seems nice.”
“Just be careful. These foreigners are wild! They are different from us. Don’t trust them.”
I wasn’t surprised by my niang’s concerns about America. For so many years we had been told that the West, especially America, was evil. We’d heard of nothing but the mistreatment of black people, the violence on the streets, the use of firearms. Even I, who had read a few books about America since the downfall of the Gang of Four and didn’t totally believe what I had learned in the past, was still suspicious and apprehensive.
Our day of departure finally arrived. That morning, eight of my friends, including the Bandit, Chong Xiongjun, and my violinist friend Liu Fengtian went out to a nearby café and brought back some pig’s head meat, red sausages, pickled vegetables, watermelon, and a few jugs of warm beer. They had to smuggle the beer into the academy: we would be in trouble if we were found out by the teachers. For two hours we would enjoy our food and our companionship, before the cademy’s jeep took us to the airport. We speculated about what America would be like. “Don’t let a big-nosed girl kidnap you over there!” said the Bandit. How he wished that he was allowed to go to the airport with me.
When it was time for Zhang and me to leave, our friends fought over carrying