Li Cunxin - Mao's Last Dancer

Charles was surprised to hear from me at first, because I hadn't spoken to him since our last and only meeting twelve weeks earlier. He congratulated me on our marriage but when I told him that Ben had asked me to go to the Chinese consulate he strongly advised against it. "The consulate is considered Chinese territory. Better meet them on neutral ground, like at a restaurant."

"Is dangerous to meet in consulate?" I asked nervously.

"Yes, it could be dangerous," he replied.

I quickly called Ben back and told him I wanted to meet the Chinese officials at a restaurant instead.

"Li, if you want to change places, you call them."

So I did. I called Consul Zhang and he sounded surprisingly calm and pleasant. "Cunxin, we're family, we understand what you did and why you did it. I only want to have a little chat with you.

No more than five minutes. Then you will be free to go and enjoy your happy life with your bride."

So Delworth drove Lori, Elizabeth and I to the Chinese consulate on Montrose Boulevard. When we arrived Charles was already there at the consulate gate and as soon as we entered the big metal door clanged shut behind us.

My heart sank. I should have listened to Charles. I felt like a prisoner of China already.

We were taken to a meeting room where Ben, Clare Duncan and Jack, the Houston Ballet's company lawyer, were already waiting. Consul Zhang was there, and his wife who was the translator, and several other consulate officials. The only one missing was the consul general himself.

I was surprised to see my friend Zhang there too. He looked tense and upset, and when our eyes briefly met he quickly turned away.

It was about six in the evening by now. Ben, Clare and Jack were all dressed in their evening wear ready for another farewell party at Louisa's house that night.

I looked around the room. I had been in this meeting room before, when I'd had to report to the consulate on weekends. It was a big square room with black-and-white Chinese landscapes and calligraphy on the walls. There were some sofas and chairs in the middle of the room and some extra chairs added for extra people. I still had Lori's "Don't let the turkeys get you down" badge on my jacket.

The atmosphere was tense. The Chinese host gestured for Elizabeth and me to sit. The consulate officials seemed relaxed and friendly but Ben was clearly furious. He wouldn't even look at me.

We were offered tea and soft drinks and there was a lot of small talk about China and the improving relationship between the two countries. Charles and I were perplexed: nobody was talking about why we were there at all! The officials seemed very content for everyone just to have a good time. I was perspiring and shivering. I was very scared. I could not stand the suspense much longer.

Then one of the officials asked Charles and Jack to speak with him, alone, in a room down the hall. I wanted Charles to stay but he gave me a reassuring look, and he told me later he'd thought it made sense anyway since he was effectively my attorney and

Jack was the attorney acting on behalf of the Houston Ballet. They would engage in some serious talk about my situation and spare the rest of us from all the legal unpleasantries.

But it didn't seem like that to those of us left in the room. It seemed as though the consulate officials were deliberately keeping the conversation going, trying to distract us, while they gradually eliminated my friends from the room.

People disappeared one by one and each time a friend left I squeezed Elizabeth 's hand tighter and tighter. It wasn't long before only Clare, Zhang, Elizabeth, myself and two officials were left in the room.

Eventually Consul Zhang asked everyone, except me, to go to another room. He wanted a private conversation.

Elizabeth refused.

We begged Clare and Zhang to stay with us, but the two officials simply shoved Clare and Zhang out the door.

Then four security guards stormed in, heading straight for Elizabeth and me.

We screamed.

Clare and Zhang looked back and screamed too.

The building echoed. It took only a few seconds for the four Chinese guards to separate me from Elizabeth. I tried to kick them away but I was completely helpless against those highly trained guards. They quickly grabbed my arms and legs, carried me to the top floor and locked me into a small room, only big enough for two single beds and a small chest of drawers.

I was struggling to breathe. I was scared. Truly scared.

In the meantime, downstairs, Charles Foster realised what was happening. He demanded to see his client.

From then on, Charles said later, the atmosphere changed completely. In a very loud and strident voice the consulate official ordered Charles to sit. He was on Chinese territory and he was expected to follow orders. The two employees who were serving drinks dropped their trays and assumed a defensive stance. They blocked the door. Charles charged forwards but was pushed and shoved as he tried to get through. He could hear my voice yelling from above, "Help, they are taking me! Help, they are taking me!" By the time Charles and Jack got back to the main room everyone was there, except me.

From my room on the top floor I could hear the guards talking outside the door. "Could have killed that bastard!" said one of them. I was terrified. I remembered the executions I had witnessed as a child during the Cultural Revolution and I saw my own death flash in front of my eyes. I felt desperately alone. Nobody could save me that night. It was just a matter of time before they stuck a gun to my head or forced me back to China where I would suffer an unbearably slow, humiliating death in the cruellest prison in the land.

I tried to think about my niang and her sweet laughter. I tried to think about my dia and his humble stories. I tried to think about Elizabeth, the smell of her perfume. I remembered the Bandit and our blood brothers' poem, but I couldn't hold on to any one comforting thread.

I looked out the tiny window and down at a pool on the ground floor. It was too far to jump. Escape was impossible. Death here, at least, would be simpler and quicker than the suffering and humiliation of a Chinese prison.

The door opened. Consul Zhang came into the room. He sat in front of me on the other bed and attempted a smile, but he seemed very sad. He looked straight into my eyes, like a chess player trying to figure out a strategy. I wanted to turn away but I thought this would suggest to him that I was wavering, so I forced back a smile.

We sat there just looking at each other. I was perspiring profusely. I couldn't stand this silence. If I sat there any longer my heart would simply explode. I had to do something! What to say to Consul Zhang? What was there to say? I knew the outcome would be the same: I was scum, a defector, the most hated traitor of all.

Consul Zhang finally broke the silence. "Cunxin, what have you done?" he said calmly.

There seemed so many different ways to answer but I knew none of my answers would satisfy him. "Nothing," I replied.

"Do you understand what you have done?" he asked, this time with more urgency.

"Yes, I love Elizabeth and I married her. Is this against the law?" I replied.

"Yes! What you have done is against your government's wishes and it's illegal in China! You're a Chinese citizen! Your government doesn't recognise your marriage. And you're too young to know what love is."

"Consul Zhang, my lawyer Mr Foster told me that China does recognise international marriage law. I'm married here in America and American law should be observed. As to my love for Elizabeth, it's a personal matter. I won't discuss it with you."

He was incensed. "Do you think a foreigner could really love a Chinese? The foreigners will use you, abuse you, and dump you like a piece of trash!"