Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [77]
I had been in Houston for eleven months. My secret relationship with Elizabeth was only a few months old. And I had to keep focused on my work.
I’d been rehearsing the Le Corsaire pas de deux one day with Suzanne, experimenting with a new, one-handed lift, when just before the end of our rehearsal there was a jerk in my shoulder joint and a sharp pain shot through my right arm. I caught Suzanne with my left hand on the way down, but I felt intense pain.
Ben and Suzanne were immediately concerned. I put an icepack on my shoulder joint. I knew I had dislocated it, and probably torn some tendons and muscles, but I didn’t want to see a doctor. I didn’t want Ben to think it was serious. He might take me out of the ballet.
My shoulder was swollen for days; I covered it up by wearing long-sleeved shirts. I couldn’t do lifts properly and had to make different excuses. I knew that by continuing to practice I might make my injuries worse. But I also knew I needed to work harder if I was ever to reach the standard of Baryshnikov and Vasiliev. There was no way I was going to let injury slow me down.
Ben had choreographed a circle of six consecutive double assemblé, or double turns in the air, for my solo in Le Corsaire. I could barely do one well, let alone six. Every time my feet pushed off from the floor my body would twist in the air like a barbecued shrimp. “There’s no point getting yourself injured,” Ben said. “Let’s change it.”
“Please, give me few days,” I begged, despite the pain of the injuries. I was angry with myself for not being able to do what Ben had in mind but there was a weekend coming up and I knew I could use it to practice. I locked myself in our studio for two days, practicing each movement and analyzing them in absolute detail—the angle of my leap, the timing, weight distribution, speed—everything. At times the pain was excruciating. I fell many times, but I didn’t give up.
I made the breakthrough late on Sunday afternoon. I was elated. I truly believed that now nothing was impossible.
Le Corsaire was a huge success. Then, quite unexpectedly, Ben came onstage with a microphone in hand. He stood in front of the curtain and announced that he had the Chinese government’s permission for me to stay in America longer and had promoted me to a soloist position with the Houston Ballet.
“This must be a dream,” I thought. Senior Consul Zhang Zongshu from the Chinese consulate was in the audience that evening. He was very proud: I had brought glory to the Chinese people, he said. The Chinese government gave me permission to stay for an extra five months.
From then on I was a sort of celebrity in Houston. I was stopped by people in restaurants, shops, streets, even parking lots. Despite this instant stardom, I knew I would still have to work hard—I couldn’t lose sight of my aim. My injuries gradually got better. I continued to stay with Ben and I continued to meet Elizabeth in secret. I felt guilty, as though I was betraying Ben and China, both at once. I wished I hadn’t allowed myself to fall in love. Anyone I told about Elizabeth would be placed in a very dangerous situation with the Chinese government. I couldn’t bear to put my family and friends in such a position. My only option was to stay quiet.
April 1981: less than a month to go before I was scheduled to return to China. The Houston Ballet’s first major tour to New York was coming up and I was the understudy for the lonely, arrogant prince in John Cranko’s The Lady and the Fool. Then one week before the performance in New York, Ben asked me to do a full rehearsal with the first-cast dancers. I was stunned.
The prince’s first entrance was in the middle of a high-society ball. I had to enter at the far-back center stage and come down some steps with people on both sides of the stage standing back in silence and admiration. Walking down those steps was like walking on hot coals for me.
“Li, you’re too nice,” Ben said and stopped the pianist. “Go back and do it again. I want more arrogance.”
I was shaking with embarrassment. I still had no idea what