Li continuously talked about his family and I knew his separation from them broke his heart. A few months after we were married we decided to do something about it. I encouraged Li to organise a meeting with Consul Tang at the Chinese consulate in Houston. He was new and we had met him and his wife at one of our performances.
Li was nervous and quiet when we arrived, but I saw it as an opportunity to make things happen. We had heard that China had opened up considerably under their paramount leader Deng Xiaoping’s Open Door Policy. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be fine,’ I said, but I knew Li was remembering that this was the same place where he had nearly lost his life when he defected in 1981.
After providing identification, we were led into a small reception room and given Chinese tea. I felt Li stiffen. Unknown to Cultural Consul Mr Tang, who soon joined us, this was the very room where Li and his ex-wife, Elizabeth, had been detained.
Mr Tang and Li spoke in Chinese and I didn’t understand what was being said. Things seemed to be dragging on. So when Mr Tang turned to me, I quickly said, ‘Mr Tang, it would make Li so happy to be able to visit his family. Do you think it’s possible for him to go back to China to visit his parents?’
Li grabbed my hand. The look on his face was saying, ‘Don’t, please don’t.’ I guess it wasn’t the Chinese way to deal with things head-on, but that was my way. I thought, What’s the beating around the bush for? He’s been waiting nine years. They can only say no.
I continued to hold Li’s hand tightly, but I saw his face change. Something positive was happening. Mr Tang’s response surprised him: ‘Mary, China has opened up. I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll look into it.’
A couple of months later, Consul Tang called Li and informed him that we had been given permission by the Chinese government to visit Li’s family in China. We were overjoyed, and I could almost see that dark cloud lifting from Li’s shoulders. Soon, we received the visas and booked our flights for the June summer break.
I was thrilled to be returning to China, this time to see Li’s parents and meet the rest of his family. The language barrier didn’t really bother me. As I always did when I travelled, I started reading about China and books by Chinese authors, including Nien Cheng’s Life and Death in Shanghai, and The Good Earth by Pearl Buck, which Li bought me. I went on to read lots more, especially anything about the Cultural Revolution, which was so important to Li and his family’s life. But I didn’t really know what I was in for in China until I saw it firsthand. Then the questions started and didn’t stop.
Before we left home, Li tried to teach me the names of all his brothers. I learned them from one to seven, oldest to youngest, and Li was the sixth of the seven boys. He showed me a photo of them when they were children. I particularly remembered his oldest brother, Cuncia, who was really handsome. As the firstborn, he had a lot of responsibility and was almost like a second father to his younger brothers.
‘Second Brother, Cunyuan, is different and cheeky!’ Li told me. Cunyuan had an arranged marriage, like his parents. Third Brother, Cunmao, had been given away to his fourth uncle and aunt who couldn’t have children. This horrified me, but Li explained that having a male child was very important for survival – you needed a son to look after you in your old age and to continue the family bloodline, and it also meant one less mouth to feed in Li’s family and a better life for Cunmao. Later, having seen how little the families had, all this made more sense to me. Fourth Brother, Cunsang, was a former naval soldier, now turned farmer. Fifth Brother, Cunfar, worked for a transport company. Li’s youngest brother, Cungui, was known as Jing Tring, which means ‘coming the group’, because Li’s mother couldn’t think of a name with lucky meaning for him initially and thought that seven sons certainly made a group. I learned to say hello, goodbye and thank you, and to count from one to ten in Li’s hometown dialect, which is similar to Mandarin.
Li tried to prepare me, saying, ‘My family live in a commune. It’s very poor. There’s no running water, and the electricity cuts out all the time. There’s no phone at the house. The whole village shares one phone and any calls are announced over the loudspeaker.’
But nothing would prepare me for the poverty – and yet the conditions were now much better than they had been when Li was growing up.
In the weeks before we flew out, Li went on a buying spree. ‘Gift-giving is a tradition in China,’ he told me. But how on earth are we going to fit all this stuff? I thought.
Li bought presents for everyone we were going to meet, as well as spares for someone he mightn’t have thought of, so he bought lollies, cigarettes, lipstick, make-up, perfume and children’s toys. We had as many suitcases as we were allowed, packed full. On top of that, Li bought not one but two refrigerators for his family, as they couldn’t buy whitegoods in China then.
Finally, we flew to Beijing and Li’s blood brother, ‘the Bandit’, his wife, Marji, and his violinist friend, Fengtian, and his wife, Jiping, were waiting for us. They never left our side from the moment we landed. I had been so looking forward to meeting the Bandit. Li had been telling me stories about him since we first met. He and Li had met at the Beijing Dance Academy. Li had told me they had a rare and special friendship that developed during the hard times separated from their families. At the academy, they supported each other and their friendship helped them survive those tough years there – they were like true brothers. The Bandit was China’s junior martial arts champion before he joined the Beijing Dance Academy and was now a soloist at the Central Ballet of China. He was incredibly resourceful and just seemed able to conjure up whatever was needed – stuff like extra food that couldn’t be found in the shops or medicine for Li when he was sick.
The Bandit was over six feet tall, strongly built and handsome. He had a more angular, chiselled face than Li and Li’s other Chinese friends. He and Li hugged each other hard, with tears in their eyes. Li introduced me to the Bandit and Fengtian, and then introduced us to their wives. The Bandit gave me a passionate hug, which took me by surprise as Li had told me that the Chinese are rather reserved and they don’t do hugs. Marji whispered, ‘Xiao xin dian, ye su ren jia bo si huan yin bo na.’ The Bandit laughed sheepishly and looked embarrassed. I asked Li what Marji said. Before Li could answer me, Marji told me in English, ‘Mary, I told him that he needs to be careful, you may not like hugs.’
‘Tell him, I do like hugs,’ I said to Marji.
After Marji translated, the Bandit nudged her gently and said, ‘Ni kan, ni kan.’ You see, you see.
I liked him from the beginning. He never spoke a word of English but we got on fantastically.
The Bandit and Fentian grabbed the suitcases, and off we went in a van. All the way from the airport to our hotel, they seemed to speak at 100 miles an hour. I looked out the window. There were people on bicycles everywhere, many carrying huge loads on their backs, sometimes even whole families on one bike. There didn’t appear to be any road rules. Cars would swerve into other lanes and back again. It was terrifying – but Li wasn’t taking any notice.
‘Mary, the Bandit says Chinese secret police already know we’re coming. They are waiting for us at hotel.’