Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [86]
My poor niang! My poor dia! They had never been away from Qingdao before. They had just had their first car ride, train ride, and airplane experience all in one day. And now here they were, suddenly faced with the blinding lights of a grand theater and a sea of people applauding them.
“Six years! Six long years! Finally I’m going to see my son. My heart is so hot, it burns with joy and pride!” my niang kept saying.
I was told of my parents’ arrival only moments before the applause erupted from the audience. My whole being burst with happiness. I wanted to soar into the air. I wanted to see them then, at that very moment, but the performance was about to start and I would have to wait.
The audience was ecstatic that night. People applauded me when I first came onstage. They too wanted me to dance well, to dance well for my parents.
Everything went seamlessly. The lifts felt light, the partnering felt effortless. My nerves were there, yet under control, and they in turn became my endless source of energy. My leaps were high. It felt as if I was flying like a bird, gliding through the open sky, and if the music had allowed it, I would have stayed in the air all night. My pirouettes felt like I was turning in silk, smooth and secure. I felt totally free. It was not hard work, it was sheer joy. All those years of one-legged stair hopping, of pirouetting in candlelight, of torn hamstrings and painful injuries all came together in that show. When the curtain came down at the end of act one, I knew I had given one of my best performances and I had done it in front of my parents. The dream I had once been too afraid to dream had at last come true.
During intermission, Ben brought my niang and my dia onstage.
It had been six years since I had set eyes on them. They wore Mao’s suits buttoned all the way up to their necks, my niang in gray and my dia in dark blue. They looked so proper, so stiff. My memories of them didn’t match. They looked older too, especially my niang. Her black hair had turned gray and the many years of harsh living had obviously taken their toll. Her face was more wrinkled and now she wore a pair of black-rimmed oversized glasses.
The three of us, in tears, simply hugged each other tight. Nobody spoke for a long time. My niang took her handkerchief out and it was already soaked with tears. “Don’t cry! Don’t cry! It’s all right now!” she kept saying.
I wanted that moment to linger on and on and on. I had longed for her comfort for so many years.
By the time I went back to my dressing room to change for the second act, I realized that nearly all my makeup had been wiped off by my niang’s handkerchief. But I didn’t care. I had felt my niang’s adoring love and tender touch once more.
After the performance, my niang and my dia came backstage again. They watched people congratulate me for the performance, and I could see the pride in my parents’ eyes.
Finally, my dia, the man of few words, could contain himself no longer. “Why didn’t you wear any pants?” he said. He had never seen anyone wearing tights before.
That night, with my parents sleeping just a few yards away, I tucked myself under the blankets and slept like a baby. No more nightmares now.
Mary McKendry and I were married in October 1987, and on June 3, 1988, we arrived at the Beijing Airport, met by my blood brother the Bandit and my violinist friend Fengtian and their wives. There was so much joy for us all. It was nine years since we last saw each other.
I was now allowed to visit my old school, the Beijing Dance Academy. Teacher Xiao and Zhang Shu met me at the gate. We could only shake hands and looked at each other through tear-filled eyes. They asked me to perform for them, and I did. I could see in their eyes that they were proud of what I’d achieved.
A few days later, we went to Qingdao to see my family. As we approached our village, massive firecrackers exploded and a huge