Li Cunxin - Mao's Last Dancer

Within only a few minutes a small crowd of familiar faces surrounded me. Most were teachers, among them my first ballet teacher Chen Lueng and one of my Chinese folk dance teachers Ma Lixie. They all wanted to talk to me and asked many questions. Eventually Teacher Xiao and Zhang Shu had to remind me that all the other ballet teachers were eagerly waiting for me too, and that we should make our way inside.

We walked into a room full of faces. The teachers of the ballet department had prepared tea for us, with roasted peanuts, sunflower seeds, even some cut-up watermelon. We sat around and talked. Zhang Shu, I discovered, was still the head of the ballet department. I also found out that they knew of some of my achievements and that they were especially impressed by the medals I'd won at the international ballet competitions. We talked and talked. I thanked every one of them for what they'd done for me. I asked what they would like me to do for them while I was there. "Dance for us!" Teacher Xiao said.

People cheered at his suggestion and I understood then how much they wanted me to show them what I'd learnt in the West in the past nine years. I had no dancing gear with me, so Teacher Xiao lent me a pair of tights and some ballet shoes. But they had to keep the teachers from the other dance departments and all the academy students away- China might have changed but in the officials' minds I was still too much of a Western influence.

My audience gathered in front of me, in that old dance studio once more, the same one where I had endlessly practised my pirouettes and had left dents in the wooden floor. I noticed the familiar smell of mildew mixed with sweat and saw again the dust motes floating in the air through the beams of sunlight. It was all still there, in every detail. Here I was, standing in front of my former teachers, nervous to dance in front of those familiar, critical eyes. It felt like my very first exam in my first year at the Beijing Dance Academy. I felt like I was eleven years old again.

I decided to dance the prince solo from Act Three of Swan Lake. There was no music, so I danced while my audience hummed the tune. Without the costumes, the makeup and the music, it felt so bare and disjointed. How I wished I could show them one of Ben's awesome productions. But I could tell from my teachers' eyes that they were proud of what I had achieved in dance-their long- lost son had finally returned.

I also danced one of the solos from Glen Tetley's Le Sacre du Printemps and Christopher Bruce's Ghost Dances while Mary obligingly hummed the tunes. We chatted in between my demonstrations but they asked me so many questions and were so hungry for Western knowledge that after two hours I was exhausted.

"All right, all right, let's not kill Cunxin off!" Teacher Xiao said finally.

We left the old dance studio and went to Teacher Xiao's little apartment in the academy grounds. His wife cooked us a beautiful lunch and we continued to talk and talk. There was so much to catch up on. Teacher Xiao was now the co-head of the choreography department and had been promoted to professor.

"Cunxin, I couldn't tell you how many times I have dreamt about your dancing!" Teacher Xiao said. "I always wondered if I would ever see you dance again before I died. I'm honoured to have been your teacher! You have done Chinese ballet proud, all over the world."

We hugged each other tight. I had been so afraid that I would disappoint him. Teacher Xiao was the person whose opinion mattered most to me. He was the one who had shown me how beautiful ballet could be. He was the one who'd encouraged me to taste the mango. He was my mentor, my friend, the one man to whom I owed so much.

After our lunch, I showed Mary the stairs where I had done my hops and the studios where I had worked and sweated for all those years. She was shocked. Compared to what she was used to the conditions were very primitive. We sat in the dimly lit school theatre where she had watched our performance that time, back in 1979. Our paths had crossed then, in this very place, and now here we were again, sitting on the old splintered wooden seats. I closed my eyes. Into my mind flooded so many memories. My performances of Madame Mao's model ballets. Teacher Xiao's unattainable pirouettes. The theatre full of teachers and students chanting Mao's political slogans…

I don't know how long I sat there dreaming of the past but when I opened my eyes Mary was looking at me intently. "I can't believe this is really where you have come from," she said.

Before leaving Beijing I wanted to host a party at my hotel restaurant for all of my old teachers and classmates. It was a wonderful reunion, but bittersweet as well. There were many happy tears that night. One of the academy officials delivered a speech, welcoming me back to China, and I was urged to respond. I introduced Mary as an exceptional dancer in her own right and went on to say that this was one of the most exciting days of my life. "To be able to see you all is a millet dream come true. How many times I wished to be able to see you all! Sixteen years ago, thanks to Madame Mao, I was selected to join the Beijing Dance Academy. I was just a peasant boy. I knew nothing of ballet. I was homesick, a lost cause. But over those seven years you taught me and cared for me and befriended me. You have given me things I can never repay. I don't know where I would be today without you."

"You would be back in Li Commune!" the Bandit shouted, and there was much laughter.

Yes, I thought, I would be back home in Li Commune, eating dried yams and drinking north-west wind.

The next day Mary and I were on an old prop-driven plane flying to Qingdao.

I was finally going home. I would see all my brothers, their wives and children, after all these years. But I wasn't sure what to expect. What would my village and commune look like now? Would there be as much change there as I had seen in Beijing? How were my uncles, aunts, cousins and all my childhood friends? What would they think of Mary? All my friends in Beijing had adored her, and I wanted my family to feel the same. I wished the plane would fly on just a little bit faster.

Mary understood exactly how I felt. She held my hand the whole way.

As the plane was descending towards Qingdao, Mary said, "Li, take a deep breath and enjoy your family." But still I wondered what she would think of the harsh conditions she was about to encounter.

The landing was rough. Our plane slid towards a simple two- storey building. I looked out the window at my first glimpse of home.

But… where is this? The surroundings seemed familiar, but unfamiliar too. Then suddenly I saw a line of large trees in the distance and I realised with a thud in my heart exactly where we were. This was the old airport, the very same airport where I had dug the half-burnt coal from under the runway when I was a small boy. I remembered being there with my brothers, of being shot at by the army guards, of dropping my basket and spade and running, terrified, for my life. Now the two-storey building stood where the old guardhouse used to be and smooth runways spread out in different directions. The vision from my childhood days vanished in an instant.

All of my brothers, except my fourth brother, were at the airport waiting for us, with their wives and children, over twenty family members in total. I shook hands with all of them. I wanted to hug each one just as I had done with the Bandit and Fengtian but I was afraid that this would embarrass them too much. This was not Beijing. This was just a small country town.

All of my brothers looked older than I remembered. We met all the sisters-in-law, and all the children immediately called Mary and me Sixth Mother and Sixth Father, but Mary attracted the greatest attention. Even strangers at the airport asked my brothers who this Western girl was. "Our sister-in-law!" my brothers proudly replied and they all fought to carry our suitcases.