In Jakarta, we met a couple of Li’s friends from Houston for dinner. It was interesting to see how they lived. We were picked up by their chauffeur and taken past some very poor areas to their house, which was part of a gated community for Western expat families. They had amahs (maids), gardeners and drivers. ‘Neil George will love to hear about this,’ I thought, remembering his dream of an Indian adventure for the family, including lots of amahs to help Coralie.
From Jakarta, I flew straight to Perth. It was winter and much cooler than Indonesia. Beryl Grey was staging Giselle for the West Australian Ballet, and the director, Barry Moreland, had asked me to dance the lead role. I had previously worked with Barry in London where he had created a ballet for me, Sir Lancelot and the Round Table. We had a good relationship. I was excited to see Beryl again. My partner was a famous Australian dancer, Kelvin Coe, who was called out of his retirement to do six of the twelve shows. During rehearsals I was delighted to discover he was a truly magical artist, and he became one of my favourite partners. What an opportunity, to dance my favourite role in one of my favourite ballets with such a partner!
It was the first time I had danced in Australia as a principal. Mum, Dad and Dom came for opening night, and stayed in the same hotel as me. We saw each other at breakfast and sometimes for dinner, but really, I was busy with the performances and sleeping in when I could. I had a couple of media interviews while I was in Perth: ‘Aussie ballerina comes home’.
After the Perth performances I went to Brisbane to spend time with my family. We had a gorgeous week. Mum and Dad had moved from Rocky to Brisbane after Dad retired. They had bought in the inner suburb of Windsor, with fantastic views to the city. Dad had been diagnosed with diabetes and emphysema, so he had quit smoking and had taken up walking, which enabled him to enjoy the old and new architecture all over Brisbane.
Because all the kids except Ger and Mick were still at home, Mum and Dad had bought two units on the top floor of a six-unit block. This meant you could just walk across the landing into the next unit, which had the kids’ bedrooms and a second bathroom and lounge. Dad had convinced Ger to buy the other top-floor unit and Matt and Pat to invest in one on the ground floor. So the McKendrys had the majority of votes on the body corporate!
It was so good to get to know my brothers and sisters as young adults. Ger was in the police force; Mick had started working in insurance; Matt, a carpenter, was working on major performances backstage at the Queensland Performing Arts Centre; Brig was a teacher; and Pat, Jo and Dom were at university. Dad would still hold court, sitting at the top end of the table with a beer in hand, discussing the events of the day with anyone who’d listen.
Above all, I remember the constant talking and laughter. As much as I adored the ballet, my time with my family was always a wonderful break from the ballet world. But Li was never far from my mind. I wondered if he was having a nice break in Bali, where he had gone for a week’s holiday at the end of our Asian tour. I knew he was looking forward to massages on the beach. I missed him and was keen to get back to our life in Houston. I was always sad to say goodbye to my Australian family, my Australian home, but I had started to see my life as being made up of two families, two homes.
Around September, Li and I had a real setback. We were preparing Ben’s newly designed production of The Sleeping Beauty with that wonderful soaring Tchaikovsky score. I was paired to dance Princess Aurora with Li as my Prince Florimund, who awakens me with a kiss. Ben had brought focus to the storytelling, and with his choreography and Li beside me, I was looking forward to performing this production. The Sleeping Beauty tutu was the most beautiful I have ever worn – cerise pink, with long flowing sleeves, a rose in the middle of the bodice and a rose crown. When I came onto stage, I really felt like a princess.
One day, when we were practising the three ‘fish dives’ (fast turns), with Li wrapping me into his body and then putting me head down to centimetres from the floor and my legs fishtailed up into the air. All of a sudden, Li’s back injury flared up again. He was grimacing with pain, and we had to stop the rehearsal. It seemed more serious this time.
Back injuries can be career-ending for a dancer. I was so worried for him. Li went to a specialist, and an MRI scan showed he had two herniated discs in his lower back. He was told he had two choices: to have an operation, or stop dancing for six months. I just knew that the operation would be too risky and could spell the end of his career. Li insisted on continuing as he didn’t want to let me down, but I told him: ‘Don’t even think about it. It will be a disaster.’
Of course I was no expert, but the thought of back surgery filled me with foreboding. We had to stop ourselves from thinking about the worst-case scenarios: ‘What if he can never dance again? What if he can’t work?’ And I didn’t even want to think about dancing if Li wasn’t in the studio with me.
Li had bought a small wooden bungalow with a verandah in a neighbourhood called the Heights. It had two bedrooms and a central bathroom. He had renovated it from scratch, proudly telling me that he and his friends had done nearly all the work, from levelling the foundation to plumbing and electrical wiring, learning skills and trades as they went.
So Li lay on his back for over three months in his bungalow. People brought him food, and movies to watch. I would visit him almost every day. He was only allowed to get up to go to the bathroom, shower and eat. He even ate most of his meals in bed and had regular massage and acupuncture treatments at his home. When I finished work or was free for the weekend, I would take books to read to him. Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove – in keeping with our Houston location – was one of his favourites.
When I first met Li, his reading of English was limited. I started to give him small newspaper articles I knew he’d be interested in, and he soon became a fervent reader. Then off and on I would give him spelling tests. ‘English is such a hard language. Just keep trying!’ I would tell him. He kept a Chinese–English dictionary beside the bed. He went from reading the sports pages in the Houston Chronicle to the business section, and then he found the Wall Street Journal and never looked back. This taught him to read well and fast, and gave him an education in the world outside of ballet.
I really missed Li in the studio. He was my best friend and, I was beginning to realise, my soulmate. I mainly paired with Ken McCombie, who was a very fine artist. But there was always that lingering question that would affect both of us, in ways we couldn’t imagine: Would Li ever dance again?
Well, of course he would. How could I have doubted it? His comeback was hard and tedious. It took a total of six months of rest, therapy, rehabilitation and training. He was positive and determined throughout. I’ve never seen anybody work harder, or with more tenacity.
Li’s discipline and persistence enabled him to return to ballet even stronger and better. I was thrilled to have him back to dance with me in Ronnie Hynd’s Rosalinda in March 1987. The ballet required some very tricky partnering, especially with pirouettes and lifts. He was incredible.
6
Six months before my arrival in Houston, Li’s parents had been to visit for the first time since his defection. They were now preparing for a return visit, and excitement spread among the entire ballet community as they had left a big impression on many people. Li had told me how emotional their reunion was on their first visit, when they were secretly rushed into the theatre by Li’s friends without him knowing. I heard there’d been a lot of teary eyes in the audience that night, and Li’s mother had just sobbed and sobbed. It was a dream-come-true moment for them all.