Of course he had to ask Ben Stevenson for permission to include some dancing in the role of Drosselmeyer, and he also asked Greg Horsman to help him with the choreography. One day I peeked in to see how they were going. I couldn’t quite believe my eyes: Li was doing pirouettes, high leaps and split jetés around the studio like a madman. What was he thinking? Hadn’t I told him not to go overboard?
But discipline was part of Li’s DNA, and he put himself through a rigorous twelve-week training regime, gradually building up his strength. He had to get his body used to dancing again and not be dizzy turning. On top of that, he needed to continue his busy role as the company’s artistic director. What he hadn’t realised was that none of his old injuries had gone away – they had simply lain dormant. Out came the heat pads and ice buckets. Off he went for physio and massages. Sophie massaged his left calf every night to keep the soreness at bay. I felt sorry for him but never heard him utter a single word of complaint.
The whole company was abuzz about Li dancing on stage again. Some of our young performers hadn’t even been born when he retired, and only knew about his legendary career because of his book and the film. He was under so much pressure to perform well. And everyone seemed happy for me, too. Although our roles now were hardly the same as before, the chemistry was still there and I felt very lucky.
On the day of the full-run rehearsal, a few days before Li was due on the stage, his left calf – which was his turning leg and the one he had torn before – started to become extremely sore and tight. He had been practising rising on his left foot while whipping fast turns, and now he couldn’t even walk properly without pain. I was worried that he would re-tear his calf. What a disaster if that happened in the actual gala performance! I told him to slow down, but we both knew the next few days were the most crucial and it would be very difficult for him to ease back.
I had my own role to think about. I wanted to enjoy being in the dressing room, in front of the mirror, putting on my make-up and having time to prepare for going on stage. That hour beforehand, getting into the zone, was always special.
Then, catastrophe! On the morning of the performance, Li woke up and said, ‘Darling, my calf is cramping. I can’t put weight on it.’
Oh God, this was exactly what I’d been worried about. ‘Li, you could re-tear your calf muscle,’ I said, concerned.
‘I know. It feels like it’s already torn.’
‘What do you want to do?’ I asked.
‘There’s nothing I can do now. The show has to go on.’
I knew he was right. Just imagine the disappointed fans and sponsors!
‘Li, just don’t rise on demi pointe,’ I suggested. ‘You could just do your hop-turns instead. No one will know as long as they’re fast. But if you pull your calf and start to limp around, everyone will certainly notice a crippled Drosselmeyer instead of a dancing magician.’
Li saw the humour in what I was saying, and started chuckling.
And then, our ballet of all ballets was upon us. We were unbelievably excited – and a little terrified. As we took our places behind the curtain, in the wings and backstage, everyone was slightly hysterical. I was playing the role of the Fat Mother and Greg Horsman was my fat husband. We were having a ball together, cracking up just looking at each other.
A full house of over 2000 people, including the Queensland premier, Annastacia Palaszczuk, were waiting with great anticipation and excitement. Hearing their voices and the musicians in the orchestra tuning up, and feeling the warmth of the lights above, added to the heightened sense of occasion.
The acclaimed Australian actor David Wenham, a good friend of ours, had graciously agreed to introduce this rare performance. From the minute he appeared in front of the curtain, the audience knew it was going to be a special experience. Their expectation and excitement were at fever pitch, and the nervousness and adrenaline among the dancers were palpable. I only needed to see the focus on Li’s face to know that he was in the zone. He was no longer Li my husband: he had turned into Drosselmeyer the magician, and there was a sense of magic in the air.
The wonder of The Nutcracker had something extra that night. You could sense the anticipation of the audience waiting for Li to appear. And there he was, in his black flowing cape. The audience erupted, clapping and cheering. The cheering grew louder when he did his dazzling turns and jetés, flying around the stage. If he was in pain, he didn’t show it; if his calf was cramping, I couldn’t tell. Li was leaping and flying like the star of old. The dancers filled the wings to watch him.
It was an electrifying show, and at the end there was a spontaneous standing ovation. My heart was full and I was relieved that Li was still standing.
After many curtain calls we returned to our dressing rooms, exhausted but so alive. All the staff clapped and smiled as we walked by. We felt very special! Bridie came backstage in tears, completely overcome – she had never seen either of us dance before. Sophie just said, ‘Dad, it was great, but please don’t do that again!’
Afterwards there was a splendid gala function. Tributes flowed, as did the champagne, and state government minister Kate Jones gave a speech about Queensland Ballet’s future plans and announced that we would receive a grant of $10 million to invest in Li’s dream of a new state-of-the-art ballet academy. The crowd gasped and clapped and cheered. How long had it been since anyone had heard of such support for the arts? And it was for Queensland Ballet! Li was gracious in his thank-you speech and expanded on his plans for the company’s future. The whole experience had been exhilarating!
That night, when we finally made it home, Li said with a sense of relief, ‘We did it, Mary!’
‘No – you did it, Li.’ I gave him a tight hug. This was the man I’d fallen in love with all those years ago.
What a night of nights it had been, I thought to myself the next morning. Such joy and love all around. Yes, Li and I were exhausted but we were riding high, and on the cusp of something new. With Queensland Ballet’s future assured and Sophie about to bravely embrace a new kind of independence, I couldn’t possibly ask for more, especially when I had my beloved siblings around me too. My life, with its ups and downs had come to its natural resting place, I felt. I was content, replete with happiness.
All we needed now, before Sophie left us, was one more Christmas together, and that meant flying to Shanghai to be with Tom and his Texan girlfriend, Mikala. We were thrilled to be back. We rugged up to go shopping again, stuffed ourselves with dumplings, and checked out where Sophie would be going to work. She was in a good space now, and the dark days of the last couple of years were fading from memory. You can never be sure of anything, but I hoped it would stay that way. Her visa came through while we were there – at last! – and Li took all of us to a Chinese hotpot restaurant to celebrate. We raised our glasses to Sophie: ‘Gongxi! Gan bei!’
Then before we knew it we were back home in Brisbane to prepare for the start of another exciting year at the ballet, spend some time with Coralie and the rest of the clan, and for Sophie to pack her bags and book herself a flight back to Shanghai after the Chinese New Year.
It was all very real now, but I was ready.
21
It is Sophie’s last night with us and we’re having a farewell dinner at home with just the family. We are sitting at the long table with the dining-room glass doors folded back, looking out across the pool terrace. The sun is going down and I’m sitting opposite Sophie. I can see how beautiful she is, bathed in a soft glow after being at the beach during the summer.