Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [65]
When we got back to Ben’s place I had my first bath. The water soaked my body and soothed my every nerve. The bed was a different matter though. I found the soft bouncy mattress very uncomfortable!
When I woke up the next morning I had to pinch myself to make sure that everything was real. When I heard Ben’s voice downstairs calling us for breakfast, I knew it was true. I was in America. For six whole weeks.
Ben had already cooked us some bacon and eggs. “Would you like some muffins?” he asked.
Zhang and I exchanged horrified looks. “No, thank you!” we replied quickly. “What a terrible thing for Ben to offer us for breakfast,” I thought to myself.
This time Ben was puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
With the help of my dictionary, I replied: “‘Muffin’ meaning horse poop in Chinese.”
Ben roared with laughter. “First ‘Oh dear me’ and now ‘horse poop!’ We’re going to have a lot of fun this summer.”
Next he offered us orange juice. I felt like a criminal drinking that precious juice. My family had never even seen an orange before. And it was the first time that we’d ever tasted bacon, toast, butter, and jam. We had masses of food. Ben couldn’t believe where it all went. He had to cook more bacon and fry more eggs. It was as though we hadn’t eaten for eighteen years.
The Houston Ballet Academy was in a single-story brick building shared with the Houston Ballet Company. There were four medium-sized studios.
Clare Duncan, the head of the academy, took us around and introduced us to the teachers and students. Zhang and I were completely confused. Everyone looked alike and their names were impossible to remember.
“Ballet class, when?” I asked Ben, with the aid of my dictionary. I was eager to begin.
“You can start today if you like,” he replied.
When I looked into the studios I noticed all the male students wore black tights, white T-shirts, socks, and shoes. The only pair of tights I had was given to me by one of my teachers back in China. He’d gotten them from a British ballet dancer and they were bright blue.
“No pants,” I told Ben after I found the word “pants” in my dictionary.
“You don’t need pants for class.” Ben was puzzled.
“Pants, pants!” I repeated as I demonstrated a plié and pointed at my legs.
“You don’t need pants, you only need … oh, tights!”
“Yes!” I wasn’t sure what the word “tights” meant but it looked like Ben had understood, so I smiled broadly.
He quickly organized for us to go to a dancewear shop. He gave Stephanie, the company manager, enough money to buy Zhang and me two pairs of tights, dance belts, and a pair of ballet shoes, which cost over $200 each. I quickly did a currency conversion: $200 was equivalent to over two years of my dia’s salary. How could I justify Ben spending two years’ salary on our dancewear!
It was lunchtime when we arrived back at the academy and a Houston Ballet board member, Louisa Sarofim, was waiting to take us to lunch at a nearby restaurant.
From the way the restaurant owner treated Louisa, I knew we were about to have lunch with yet another class enemy. The restaurant was amazingly elegant and cool.
We were handed a menu each. I couldn’t read anything except the prices. Since Louisa was going to pay, I thought I should be modest and not order anything too expensive. I didn’t want to leave a bad impression. I told Zhang of my intentions. “I will do the same,” he said. We chose two of the cheapest items on the menu. I hadn’t any idea what I’d ordered but was confident that we wouldn’t be left starving.
Minutes later, the waiter placed a small plate of green salad in front of me and a small bowl of green soup in front of Zhang. I still remember the look Zhang gave me. I forced out a smile and quickly turned my eyes away.
“Are you okay?” Ben asked, concerned.
“Okay!” I replied brightly. I poked my fork into the greens and tasted a leaf of my very first salad. “Good taste!” I said to Zhang, to encourage him. He forced himself to finish his green soup. Luckily the waiter