Louise had moved with her family to Geelong, outside Melbourne, but she remained a good friend and continued to provide us with advice when needed. Sophie’s new therapist, Sharon Klieve, would work with her at school and also came to our home for extra therapy sessions.
I tried to keep things positive for Sophie by making a fuss over how beautiful she looked in her new school uniform. The first thing was just to get her settled. Her teacher, Mr Prideaux, was young and gentle, and quick off the mark. He was comfortable with the FM microphone that Sophie still needed in order to hear him in the classroom.
On the afternoon of her first day I walked to the classroom door and anxiously waited with Bridie on my hip. Sophie came out looking exhausted and a bit confused. ‘She’s a very good girl, Mary,’ Mr Prideaux told me. ‘But it’s going to take a bit of extra time for her to settle in.’
As we walked to the car, I asked Sophie, ‘How did you go today?’
‘Okay,’ she replied simply, but she looked overwhelmed. I felt bad that I couldn’t explain the reasons behind our decision to move schools when she just didn’t have enough language to understand.
I knew that the first few months would be hard, and I felt sick in the stomach that Sophie couldn’t really tell me how it was going. She made one nice friend quite quickly, but soon the friend’s family moved interstate and Sophie was heartbroken. She cried and cried. She only needed one person who understood her and could translate what was going on for her and support her.
She started Chinese lessons, first just numbers and days of the week. Li would go over them with her, ‘Yī-, Èr, Sān, Sì, Wŭ,’ as they drove to school. Sophie seemed to enjoy these lessons, especially the writing, because the characters are visual, like individual pictures. Li loved the thought that his children might speak Chinese one day.
The weeks leading up to the March opening season in Melbourne were intense. In addition to his work at ANZ Securities, Li was preparing for his big role in Don Quixote. Rudolf Nureyev’s acclaimed version was a wonderful ballet – a showcase of Spanish knights and maidens, gypsies and fortune tellers, windmills and donkeys. Li would dance Basilio again, with upcoming talent Nicole Rhodes as Kitri.
The role of Basilio requires immense technical brilliance and Li was worried about how his body would hold up. Don Quixote is even more challenging if you are near the end of your career and juggling two jobs. It was a big ask, and every spare minute was given over to practising. Here’s where my coaching skills came in handy. Some of Rudolf’s intricate steps weren’t Li’s forte, so I’d work with him and Nicole.
One day, I could see something was bothering Li. ‘It still doesn’t feel quite right, Mary,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Well, to be honest, I never felt I conquered this role – and maybe it’s too late,’ he said.
Li was quiet. He then confessed, ‘When I dance this role, I always have the images of Baryshnikov and Nureyev in my mind, and I never feel that I measure up to them.’
He had never shared these feelings with me before. ‘Darling,’ I said, ‘technically you’re not any less than Baryshnikov or Nureyev. But they danced with their own individuality and created their own unique characters. That’s what you have to do. Forget them. Forget what they did. Invent your own character.’
I could see he understood me. From that moment onwards, our rehearsals took a different approach. We solely focused on the character and what felt natural for him.
On opening night, Li was incredible. He was alive. He was flying. He was Basilio. He drew the audience into his world. His energy, wit and technical brilliance are something I will never forget – and the audience adored the performance. It was just stunning. As always, Li partnered Nicole with such care and assurance. He danced the performance of his life that night. Even though I had seen some pretty spectacular ballet from him before, this night was electric.
I let Li sleep in the next morning, but when he woke, he came hobbling down the stairs. I could see he was hurting. ‘God, I’m sore,’ he said.
‘But you were amazing last night! Everything worked.’
He looked at me, and said, ‘Mary, I’m not sure I can make it through the year.’
I was shocked, even though I knew this moment had to come. Then he asked, ‘Tell me honestly. Is it time?’
‘Li, you have danced pretty much all the major ballets you ever dreamed of dancing; you have had a wonderful career. I know you always wanted to finish on top. If you feel you want to stop now, you should. You have nothing more to prove.’
‘Mary, I feel it’s time,’ he said. ‘Last night’s performance was special. I’m happy to end my career on that one. I can’t keep going. I think I should finish my career in Sydney when we complete this season.’
I could see that his mind was made up. It wasn’t unexpected, but I was sad. I knew what this realisation felt like. For different reasons, I had made the same decision in Canada. This was Li’s fourth season with the Australian Ballet and he had built up a strong following with Australian audiences, who had discovered just how magical he was. And now he would be gone. But I would have him home.
I could see he was feeling emotional. I had to be strong for him. ‘You never thought you’d dance this long anyway, Li,’ I said. ‘Especially in big classical roles. You’ve been incredible, really pushed the boundaries. You can move into stockbroking with no regrets.’
It was announced that Li would officially retire from ballet in the autumn. His farewell was a big deal for the company and a huge deal for Li. Dancing had been his life. For his swansong he would again perform the role of Basilio that he had so successfully made his own. His final performance would be on 2 March 1999 at the Sydney Opera House, but before that he would say goodbye to Melbourne.
We were so excited on that special night. I explained to Sophie what was happening, and we put on our best frocks and Tom actually changed out of his tennis gear for once. He was now almost seven and had seen Li in a few performances. It was extra-important that Sophie and Tom see their dad perform one more time. Dom – bless him – stayed home to mind Bridie. We all knew this night would be one to cherish and remember.
The audience was filled with our friends and Li’s adoring fans, who wanted to witness his final performance in their city. The applause for his leaps and the pas de deux was so enthusiastic – ‘Bravo, bravo!’ They farewelled him with a standing ovation. I rushed backstage with our kids and friends to Li’s dressing room. Tom flew into his arms and Li hugged him tight. There was hardly room to breathe with everyone laughing and congratulating him.
Two weeks later, we flew to Sydney to see Li’s very final curtain call. What made it extra special was that Ben Stevenson surprised us by arriving from America. It was short notice, and we were deeply touched that he had come.
When Li appeared onstage, he had such presence with his expressive face that communicated so much. Then he started to dance, and his body moved with incredible grace and confidence. He had such impressive physicality with his long arms and legs. He flew high in the air and his pirouettes were a blur. His maturity was on show, and of course his love for the ballet. Li took over the stage, and everyone else was swept along with him. It was a brilliant, emotional performance. And then his illustrious career was over, to another marvellous standing ovation.