I went backstage with Sophie. ‘That was wonderful, darling. A spectacular show!’ I said.
Li simply smiled.
‘You have to be happy with that, Li!’ I told him.
As he sat in front of the mirror, I noticed he wasn’t moving. ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.
He took a breath. ‘You know, Mary, I’ve just realised that this is the last time I’ll be taking my make-up off.’
I could see he was overcome. I had to be strong so I started to help pack up his gear. ‘Li, I hate to tell you, but Ben and everybody are waiting for you,’ I said. I didn’t like to rush him. I knew this was an especially sentimental moment in his career.
While I waited for him to finish his shower, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of sorrow, both for him and for me. Ever since we had become partners in Houston, we had built up an incredible trust both in the studio and on stage. I constantly marvelled at how honest and truthful he was about his shortcomings, how humble he was in taking up my and other people’s corrections, how much passion he had demonstrated in every performance. It surprised me that he had mastered his footwork towards the end of his career. Most dancers would have stopped listening and improving, or even stopped dancing before thirty-five. But here he was dancing beautifully until the end. Who could ask for anything more?
An afterparty was held in the foyer of the Sydney Opera House. It was quite a celebration, including dancers, company staff members, friends and family. But it was very sad. The dancers gathered around Li and told him how much they would miss him. Li spoke from the heart – he has a gift for it – and on this emotional night, he had everyone in tears as he thanked the people who had helped him over the years. Many people had supported him on his journey from peasant to prince of the stage. He paid special tribute to Ben and I could see Ben was touched. He was beaming proudly. It meant so much for Li to have him there. Ben had been the single most important mentor in his career. I knew Li felt forever indebted to him.
You never know what the end is going to be. He was so lucky to have the opportunity to get a final performance, I thought, as I watched Li hug his way around the room. He was exhausted physically and mentally, but could always find more energy for the people he loved.
Tom and Bridie were being looked after by a babysitter. I turned to find Sophie. It was important for her to share this milestone with her father – and there she was. She had fallen asleep on the carpeted stairs, her bottom on one step and resting her head and hands on the next.
Once we said our last goodbyes and headed to our apartment, Li turned to me and said, ‘God, Mary. I can’t believe my career as a dancer is officially over. I’m so relieved. I did it.’
I hugged him, and was relieved for him too. It had been enormously hard – not only getting ready and then doing his last-ever performances, but the extra demands on his time over the last three years. He had just started with a new firm, Johnson Taylor, one of the oldest Melbourne-based stockbroking firms, to set up the first dedicated Asian desk in stockbroking in Australia. To get through it all and live up to his own and others’ expectations was an incredible achievement. And the reviews of his final performance were some of the best he’d ever had.
In a long, arduous and extraordinary journey, Li had conquered two continents and danced around the world with some of the best companies. He had defied amazing odds. A true rags-to-riches story. What are the chances of a Rocky girl meeting a Chinese peasant prince from China?
Li convinced his parents to come and visit. It was their first time in Melbourne. How wonderful it was to have them back with us again. We were treated to Niang’s delicious Chinese feasts, and Dia happily walked Tom to the park. Li was in his element and Sophie adored having her nana and yeye back with us.
But Niang hadn’t been well, and we were conscious this might be the last time she would be able to make the trip. She arrived very sick, coughing constantly, and was visibly older and more frail. She was worried that she would be a burden on us and was anxious to go home. We suspected that she had a bad pneumonia. Li wanted to take her to the hospital but she adamantly refused. A week later, with our persistence, she finally agreed to see a doctor – but a Chinese one, she insisted. The one thing I’d learned early on about the Lis was that they could be very stubborn. It was a family trait and there was no use trying to change her mind.
Niang and Dia were besotted with sixteen-month-old Bridie, but Niang was disapproving that I was still breastfeeding her. I was desperate to stop breastfeeding, but didn’t have the strength until Niang told me to go away for a weekend and they would sort it out. I always loved her honesty and wise advice – and her plan worked.
By the time Li’s parents’ visit was over Niang was feeling better, but the illness had taken a lot out of her. She was in her late seventies and had lived a very hard life. We tried to convince them to stay longer, but they were determined to go home.
It was the beginning of another phase of our life. The excitement of Li’s last performance abated, but there was no time to rest. His full-time stockbroking career would start the following Monday. The process of adjusting to our new and different ‘normal’ life began. Li had walked out of his ballet shoes into a suit and his only job now was a nine-to-five one. He could focus on that one job and spend more time with us.
We were not a family who stood on ceremony; everything was pretty casual, and we had a lot of laughs. Black jazz pants, a T-shirt and bare feet were the order of the day for me. Li looked good however he was dressed, suit and tie for work or casual slacks at home – the way clothes sat on his body, well, he could have been a model! But always at night and in the morning, it was his beloved pyjama pants, handmade by Niang years before. He just would not part with them. He was too sentimental, especially with anything to do with his dear Niang. The kids liked to tease him about them, especially once the drawstring collapsed and he took to holding them up with his hands. ‘Dad, they are so tatty! Get some new ones!’ they would say, poking at the holes.
Li’s reply was always the same: ‘Never! Why?’
‘They don’t look good on you any more!’
Li would turn to me and ask, ‘Mary, how do I look?’
‘Darling, you look just marvellous,’ I would laugh with him.
The kids would shriek delightedly and we’d all end up rolling around on the bed in fits of laughter. They just adored their dad and were always all over him.
Bridie was getting more physically active. She was one of those babies who wanted to go out all the time. ‘Like mother, like daughter,’ Coralie said to me when I complained.
Tom, on the other hand, was always independent and self-contained. Ever since I had dropped him off to his first tennis lesson, he’d been obsessed with the sport. At home he took the paintings off one wall and volleyed against it for hours at a time. It wasn’t long before he was playing in competitions across Melbourne. He had a very good ballet physique and was a natural mover, but he didn’t want to go near a dance studio. He did try jazz and tap, but the classes didn’t last long despite the inducement of his favourite lollies. Dance just wasn’t for him, and there was no point forcing him. Now he had more time for tennis. He was happier.
Sophie was ten years old when she was asked, along with two other children, to make commemorative presentations to the president of China, Jiang Zemin, when he visited the Bionic Ear Institute. Li was thrilled for her. The Nucleus 24 bionic ear had by then been implanted in around 25 000 people in fifty countries, including China, where more than a million people with profound hearing loss had been helped by the device. It would be such a fantastic opportunity for Sophie to speak in public. A speech was prepared and she practised it over and over.