Sophie’s visa still hadn’t come through and we were able to continue our coffee mornings until we had most of my story down. Yes, it is ultimately my story, but without Sophie and her discipline, there would be no story. When I thought of writing about my life I was immediately overwhelmed, but her tenacity was just like her father’s.
I was working full time at the ballet and wrote when I could. Sophie had all but given up on the visa. Though Li kept reassuring her, she wasn’t so sure. However, she agreed to give it a few more months, to the end of the following summer break. If it hadn’t come by then, she would let it go and move on, but in Brisbane instead of Melbourne. She would not pick up with her masters after all. I had started to wonder if the delay was meant to be so that Sophie could help me write. I wanted China for her, but it was a relief to me and our writing project that she wasn’t going anywhere just yet.
Life continued to be hectic, juggling my commitments at Queensland Ballet, whether in the studio or on tour, and finding time to expand on my story, not to mention visiting my poor mother in her nursing home. Some days were really testing. I tried not to think too much about it, reminding myself how when I was raising Sophie alongside two other children, I had simply taken it one day at a time. That’s what I had to do now.
When I sat with Mum I explained the book project Sophie and I were working on. She looked at me with knowing eyes, saying that she understood. ‘That’s lovely, darling,’ she said. I know how proud she was, in her quiet way, to learn that I was writing my story. After all, it was Coralie and Neil George who had allowed me to go through that first open door at Miss Hansen’s at such a young age, which was what made possible everything that followed. How lucky I was to have such amazing parents! I wanted her to know I was writing about her, Neil George, her family, and Rockhampton too.
But would I ever finish it? And in time? Because that wasn’t all. December was fast approaching and there were some surprises in store as we revisited Li’s story again.
There was to be an exhibition of Li’s life at the Brisbane Museum. I was sceptical at first. Hadn’t I chucked out all of his junk over the years? But when I walked in to the opening of Mao’s Last Dancer the Exhibition: A Portrait of Li Cunxin and saw the display of memorabilia that the curators had found around our house, I was blown away. Not only were there many artefacts – from Li’s father’s handmade wooden stools to reproductions of Dia’s kites and old family photographs and stills from his ballets – but there were also mannequins wearing dance costumes, including some fabulous swan outfits; his copious handwritten manuscript notes; and everything in between, including the rarest of rare film footage of Niang and Dia chatting proudly about their son some ten years earlier in Qingdao when Sophie and Tom were in their teens. I was overcome with emotion. A snapshot of Li’s journey was happening before my eyes. As I walked around, taking my time to look at each display, I thought the exhibition was incredible.
Bridie and Sophie came to the opening, along with a few of our dear friends from Melbourne, and my family. Tom would catch it later at a private viewing when he came to visit later that month. I could see how special the exhibition was for our daughters. Sophie was struck hard when she saw the footage of her grandparents. Niang was laughing cheekily and Dia was doing a lot of talking, which was unusual as he was a man of few words. I could see the girls were very proud of their father and their family.
It was especially hard for Li to watch the film footage of his parents, but it was also an opportunity for us all to remember them and be reminded of how dear they were to us.
Queensland Ballet’s funding depended very much on donors, corporate partners, government funding and ticket buyers. Ever since Li’s retirement from dancing, he had often been asked to go back on stage and he had always declined. But Queensland Ballet was facing a challenge to meet its budget this year. Furthermore, with its principal partner, Suncorp, it had a successful initiative called Wishing Upon a Ballet Star, which each year enabled one child from regional Queensland to perform with the company in The Nutcracker. It would mean a lot to Suncorp if Li would agree to perform a comeback dance at that performance.
I knew something was up when Li came to me with a strange look on his face. ‘Mary,’ he said, ‘Dilshani has asked me to do something in The Nutcracker so we can turn it into a major fundraiser. Just one performance.’ Dilshani Weerasinghe was the executive director of Queensland Ballet and Li’s partner on the corporate side of the organisation.
‘What do you mean, just one performance? Do you mean going on stage?’ I asked, incredulous.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I would only be acting in the role of Drosselmeyer. What do you think?’ Drosselmeyer entertains guests at the Christmas party with magic tricks and hands out presents to the children.
‘Well, that would be fine,’ I said, relieved.
The media went into a frenzy, both in Australia and abroad. We had celebrities, politicians, donors, corporate partners and even a former prime minister wanting to get hold of tickets. But the 2000 tickets sold out in less than thirty minutes! People were hugely disappointed when they missed out.
Li received many messages from people exclaiming how excited they were at the prospect of seeing him dance again. He was confused and shocked, because he wasn’t going to be dancing, just acting – as would I, in a comic role as one of the parents. Yes, Li and I would be on stage together again after twenty-six years, and in the same ballet for which we’d danced our final pas de deux as the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Prince. Talk about full circle! Everyone thought it was terribly romantic – and so did I, to be honest, even though we wouldn’t be partnering.
But it was a dilemma for Li, who said, ‘Darling, I don’t want people feeling cheated if they are expecting to see me dance. I think I have to do some dancing.’
‘Are you crazy, Li?’ I exclaimed. ‘You’re running a ballet company – how can you have time to get into shape to do that as well?’
‘Not sure,’ he murmured.
‘How many years has it been since you retired from dancing?’
‘Eighteen,’ he replied.
‘That’s a long time, darling.’
‘I know. I’ll need to think about it a bit, won’t I?’
I rolled my eyes.
‘Can I do it, though, Mary?’ There was real doubt in his voice.
‘It’ll be difficult, but I think you can – as long as you don’t go overboard!’ I said.
‘It won’t be easy.’
‘No, but I will help you. Haven’t I always been your best coach?’ We both laughed.
So Li threw himself into training, doing classes with the company dancers three and four times a week. I could see the fierce concentration in his eyes and kept telling him to slow down.
‘You don’t want to get injured,’ I said one night during the first week.
‘I know, but I don’t have much time to get myself back into decent shape – and otherwise I’ll disappoint the audience,’ he replied.
‘No, you won’t!’ I said, knowing that he always gave more than 100 per cent once he was committed.
Over the following weeks he worked with diligence and focus, not only in classes, but on weekends and evenings too. His body got sorer and sorer.