Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [70]
Seeing the willows swaying from side to side in the breeze, I longed for refuge once again. I climbed onto a small tree and spoke to the weeping willows for the first time in five and a half years. How could my opportunity to go back to America be taken away just like that?
America was real. I had seen it. The plane trips, the cars, the cowboy hats, the steaks, the raw salad, the ballet classes, the Gershwin music. It was all so vivid and close. Desperately I tried to think of the real reason why the minister had changed his mind. Was it my report? Did I write too many good things about America? Or was what I’d been told by the deputy true?
I had no answers, but I would do everything I could to find out the truth. “Calm down, Cunxin,” I told myself. “Think of ways to persuade the minister to change his mind.”
I went back to the academy. “Teacher Xiao is looking for you!” the Bandit shouted from a distance as soon as he spotted me. “Are you all right? You look terrible.”
“I’m not allowed to go back to America,” I replied.
“Why?” cried the Bandit.
I couldn’t say. Tears choked my throat. I ran to Teacher Xiao’s office and knocked on the door.
As soon as I closed the door he rushed up to me and hugged me tight. “I heard the news. I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I was stunned by his hug at first. Hugging still wasn’t a communist thing to do. “Why, why did he take it away from me?” I sobbed. “What did I do wrong?”
“Sit down,” Teacher Xiao said. He pulled a chair out from under his small desk and lit a cigarette. “According to Director Song, the minister feels that you are too young to go to the West for a whole year.”
“But he gave me permission to go back before I returned! What made him change his mind?”
“I don’t know. Teacher Zhang and I asked the same question.”
“Is there any way we can find out?” I persisted.
“You never give up, do you?” Teacher Xiao smiled. “Teacher Zhang and I have convinced Director Song to send a petition to Minister Wang to see if he will change his mind. Now all we can do is wait.”
“Thank you, Teacher Xiao,” I said.
“Don’t thank me. You need to thank Teacher Zhang. He did most of the talking. We both felt that after only six weeks in America your dancing had already improved enormously. I can’t imagine what a year would do for you. Ben Stevenson can give you opportunities we cannot offer here. Now, go to dinner,” he urged. “Otherwise there will be nothing left.”
I didn’t hear back from the ministry for over a week. Then, on a Tuesday, Zhang Shu called me into his office. Teacher Xiao was already there. As soon as I entered the room I sensed the news was bad.
“Cunxin,” Zhang Shu said, “our petition has been turned down. I’m so sorry.”
I tried hard to hold back my tears.
Teacher Xiao said, “Teacher Zhang and I have decided to give you permission to take three weeks holiday to visit your family. You haven’t seen them for nearly two years. I’m sure they are missing you.”
“Thank you,” I said, and stumbled out of the office.
A door to a whole new world had shut right in front of me. I was devastated. Just as I’d done on that very first night at the Beijing Dance Academy seven years ago, I plunged onto my bed and under my niang’s quilt.
I couldn’t understand why not going back to America was affecting me so much. I became angry with myself for being so selfish. I was lucky to go to America once and I should be satisfied and thankful. Yet a stronger voice kept rising above all other voices in my mind: “I want to go back. I want to study