Mao's Last Dancer (Movie Tie-In)

by Li Cunxin

Ben changed to a more persuasive, softer tone. “Oh, Li, why are you doing this? China is where you belong. You are Chinese. You can’t stay here! You don’t even know Elizabeth!”

  “I love Elizabeth, we are married. We are happy ...”

  “You are not married, don’t be stupid!” he interrupted angrily. “Where did you marry?”

  I felt our conversation was going nowhere. “Ben, I go now.”

  “Li, where are you?” he asked urgently.

  But it was no use going on. I hung up and buried my head in my hands.

  Elizabeth, Lori and Dilworth looked very concerned. “What did he say?” Lori asked.

  I tried to repeat everything that Ben had said but everyone was becoming emotional by now. I knew one thing for sure. There wouldn’t be a future for me at the Houston Ballet. It broke my heart. It was like waiting to be executed. The only comfort was Elizabeth’s love and Lori and Dilworth’s friendship.

  The phone rang.

  It was Ben.

  “No, Li’s not here,” Dilworth answered.

  “Can I speak to Lori?” Ben asked.

  “She is not here either,” and Dilworth hung up.

  Another five minutes passed.

  Then a loud knock at the door. It was Clare Duncan. “Hello, Dilworth. Can I have a word with Li?”

  “Li’s not here,” Dilworth repeated.

  “Are you sure?” Clare inquired.

  “Do I look like a liar?”

  Clare left.

  Another five minutes.

  The phone rang again.

  “Dilworth, stop it, I know Li is there!” said Ben. “Clare saw his luggage in your car.” He paused. “She’s let the air out of your tires. Li’s situation is serious. I need to speak to him urgently.”

  Dilworth gave me the phone.

  “Ohh . . . Li!” Ben started to sob. “I’m finished! I’ve lost everything! Consul Zhang at the consulate thinks I’ve masterminded this whole thing. They think it’s all my fault. You have ruined everything! I’ll never be allowed back to China now!”

  “I’m sorry, Ben. What you want me say?” I asked.

  “I want you to say that this is all a mistake and that you will go back to China. Nothing will change if you go back now. I have spoken to Consul Zhang. You’ll still be a hero if you go back to China now. You’ll still be allowed to come back.”

  “If you want live in China, you go,” I said.

  “Li, the least you can do for me is explain all this to the consulate! Tell them I had nothing to do with it. Can you do this for me?”

  “Yes, I will,” I replied.

  “Then I’ll tell Consul Zhang that you will meet them at the consulate,” he said and hung up.

  “I don’t think you should go,” Elizabeth said, and Lori agreed.

  “Already, I say yes to Ben. I don’t want change my mind, I will go.” I was determined.

  “I think we should call Charles Foster,” Dilworth said, and I knew this was the most sensible idea.

  Charles was surprised to hear from me at first, because I hadn’t spoken to him since our last and only meeting twelve weeks earlier. He congratulated me on our marriage, but when I told him that Ben had asked me to go to the Chinese consulate he strongly advised against it. “The consulate is considered Chinese territory. Better meet them on neutral ground, like at a restaurant.”

  “Is dangerous to meet in consulate?” I asked nervously.

  “Yes, it could be dangerous,” he replied.

  I quickly called Ben back and told him I wanted to meet the Chinese officials at a restaurant instead.

  “Li, if you want to change places, you call them.”

  So I did. I called Consul Zhang, and he sounded surprisingly calm and pleasant. “Cunxin, we’re family, we understand what you did and why you did it. I only want to have a little chat with you. No more than five minutes. Then you will be free to go and enjoy your happy life with your bride.”

  So Dilworth drove Lori, Elizabeth and me to the Chinese consulate on Montrose Boulevard. When we arrived Charles was already there at the consulate gate, and as soon as we entered the big metal door clanged shut behind us.

  My heart sank. I should have listened to Charles. I felt like a prisoner of China already.

  22

  DEFECTION

  We were taken to a meeting room where Ben, Clare Duncan and Jack, the Houston Ballet’s company lawyer, were already waiting. Consul Zhang was there, and his wife who was the translator, and several other consulate officials. The only one missing was the consul general himself.

  I was surprised to see my friend Zhang there too. He looked tense and upset, and when our eyes briefly met he quickly turned away.

  It was about six in the evening by now. Ben, Clare and Jack were all dressed in their evening wear ready for another farewell party at Louisa’s house that night.

  I looked around the room. I had been in this meeting room before, when I’d had to report to the consulate on weekends. It was a big square room with black-and-white Chinese landscapes and calligraphy on the walls. There were some sofas and chairs in the middle of the room and some extra chairs added for extra people. I still had Lori’s “Don’t let the turkeys get you down” badge on my jacket.

  The atmosphere was tense. The Chinese host gestured for Elizabeth and me to sit. The consulate officials seemed relaxed and friendly, but Ben was clearly furious. He wouldn’t even look at me.

  We were offered tea and soft drinks, and there was a lot of small talk about China and the improving relationship between the two countries. Charles and I were perplexed: nobody was talking about why we were there at all! The officials seemed very content for everyone just to have a good time. I was perspiring and shivering. I was very scared. I could not stand the suspense much longer.

  Then one of the officials asked Charles and Jack to speak with him, alone, in a room down the hall. I wanted Charles to stay but he gave me a reassuring look, and he told me later he’d thought it made sense anyway since he was effectively my attorney and Jack was the attorney acting on behalf of the Houston Ballet. They would engage in some serious talk about my situation and spare the rest of us from all the legal unpleasantries.

  But it didn’t seem like that to those of us left in the room. It seemed as though the consulate officials were deliberately keeping the conversation going, trying to distract us, while they gradually eliminated my friends from the room.

  People disappeared one by one, and each time a friend left I squeezed Elizabeth’s hand tighter and tighter. It wasn’t long before only Clare, Zhang, Elizabeth, myself and two officials were left in the room.

  Eventually Consul Zhang asked everyone, except me, to go to another room. He wanted a private conversation.

  Elizabeth refused.

  We begged Clare and Zhang to stay with us, but the two officials simply shoved Clare and Zhang out the door.

  Then four security guards stormed in, heading straight for Elizabeth and me.

  We screamed.

  Clare and Zhang looked back and screamed too.

  The building echoed. It took only a few seconds for the four Chinese guards to separate me from Elizabeth. I tried to kick them away but I was completely helpless against those highly trained guards. They quickly grabbed my arms and legs, carried me to the top floor and locked me into a small room, only big enough for two single beds and a small chest of drawers.

  I was struggling to breathe. I was scared. Truly scared.

  In the meantime, downstairs, Charles Foster realized what was happening. He demanded to see his client.

  From then on, Charles said later, the atmosphere changed completely. In a very loud and strident voice the consulate official ordered Charles to sit. He was on Chinese territory, and he was expected to follow orders. The two employees who were serving drinks dropped their trays and assumed a defensive stance. They blocked the door. Charles charged forward but was pushed and shoved as he tried to get through. He could hear my voice yelling
from above, “Help, they are taking me! Help, they are taking me!” By the time Charles and Jack got back to the main room everyone was there, except me.

  From my room on the top floor I could hear the guards talking outside the door. “Could have killed that bastard!” said one of them. I was terrified. I remembered the executions I had witnessed as a child during the Cultural Revolution, and I saw my own death flash in front of my eyes. I felt desperately alone. Nobody could save me that night. It was just a matter of time before they stuck a gun to my head or forced me back to China where I would suffer an unbearably slow, humiliating death in the cruelest prison in the land.

  I tried to think about my niang and her sweet laughter. I tried to think about my dia and his humble stories. I tried to think about Elizabeth, the smell of her perfume. I remembered the Bandit and our blood brothers’ poem, but I couldn’t hold on to any one comforting thread.

  I looked out the tiny window and down at a pool on the ground floor. It was too far to jump. Escape was impossible. Death here, at least, would be simpler and quicker than the suffering and humiliation of a Chinese prison.

  The door opened. Consul Zhang came into the room. He sat in front of me on the other bed and attempted a smile, but he seemed very sad. He looked straight into my eyes, like a chess player trying to figure out a strategy. I wanted to turn away but I thought this would suggest to him that I was wavering, so I forced back a smile.

  We sat there just looking at each other. I was perspiring profusely. I couldn’t stand this silence. If I sat there any longer, my heart would simply explode. I had to do something! What to say to Consul Zhang? What was there to say? I knew the outcome would be the same: I was scum, a defector, the most hated traitor of all.

  Consul Zhang finally broke the silence. “Cunxin, what have you done?” he said calmly.

  There seemed so many different ways to answer, but I knew none of my answers would satisfy him. “Nothing,” I replied.

  “Do you understand what you have done?” he asked, this time with more urgency.

  “Yes, I love Elizabeth and I married her. Is this against the law?” I replied.

  “Yes! What you have done is against your government’s wishes and it’s illegal in China! You’re a Chinese citizen! Your government doesn’t recognize your marriage. And you’re too young to know what love is.”

  “Consul Zhang, my lawyer, Mr. Foster, told me that China does recognize international marriage law. I’m married here in America, and American law should be observed. As to my love for Elizabeth, it’s a personal matter. I won’t discuss it with you.”

  He was incensed. “Do you think a foreigner could really love a Chinese? The foreigners will use you, abuse you, and dump you like a piece of trash!”

  “How do you know what it is like to be loved by a foreigner?” I snapped back.

  For a second he wasn’t sure what to say. “Have you seen any marriages between Chinese and Americans?”

  I couldn’t think of any.

  “It’s not too late to change your mind. You can just tell Elizabeth that you have made a mistake and you want to walk away from it.” It was as though he was encouraging me to do something immensely heroic.

  “No,” I said, “I don’t want to divorce Elizabeth. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

  “We are not talking of divorce. As far as we are concerned, you were never married. We don’t and won’t recognize your marriage as legitimate. You don’t decide what you’re going to do with your life, the Communist Party does! You’re a Chinese citizen. You follow Chinese laws, not American laws.”

  By now I was angry. “If you think Mr. Foster has informed me wrongly, let’s ask him now,” I said.

  Consul Zhang looked perplexed. “Mr. Foster and your friends have left. They are disgusted with what you have done! You are alone. They are no friends of yours. We’re your friends. Everything will be forgiven if you go back to China as planned. You will be loved and respected by all your people!”

  I didn’t believe for a moment what Consul Zhang said about my friends. But I did think they must have been thrown out of the consulate and that the Chinese government would promise me anything to get me back to China.

  There was a knock on the door, and Consul Zhang left for a brief discussion with another man. I could hear whispers, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then Consul Zhang came back. He was trying hard to control his anger. “I want you to think about what we have just discussed, and I’ll come back soon.”

  I felt a sense of relief when he closed the door. I needed to regroup, to gather my courage. I felt exhausted, but I knew this was only the beginning of a long and nerve-racking night.

  A few minutes later the door opened again. This time one of the vice consuls general entered. He was an older, slightly taller man, and he spoke with a heavy southern-Chinese accent. He was very friendly and offered me something to drink. I politely refused. So he began to try to convince me to go back to China, listing all the benefits there would be for my family. “Think of your parents and all your brothers back home! How proud of you they must have been! You don’t want to let them down. You don’t want to create any problem for them, do you?”

  This was my greatest fear. If anything terrible happened to my family because of what I had done, I would never forgive myself. But there was no reason to involve my family! The Chinese government was responsible for my education, not my parents.

  “I left my family when I was eleven. I have nothing to do with them, and they have nothing to do with me,” I tried. I couldn’t implicate my family in all of this. My family had no idea what I’d done.

  “You’re the property of China,” the vice consul general continued. “We have given you everything. We have the power to do anything that we want with you. We don’t want to lose our star dancer! You simply have to listen to what we say. It is for your own good. The party knows what’s good for you. Have faith in the party. Have you forgotten what the party has done for you? Have you forgotten what you have sworn in front of the Communist Youth Party flag?”

  I remembered the years and years of lies about the West. I thought of Minister Wang who had refused to see me about my return to America. I thought of my lack of freedom in China, the desperate poverty that they had made sound so rich and glorious. “I don’t want to talk about the party,” I said.

  “You don’t expect the party will listen to you! Do you? The party listens to no one! Everyone listens to the party! Who helped you to get married? Is it Ben?” he asked suddenly.

  “No. I made my own decision.”

  “Tell me the truth!” He raised his voice. “We already have the facts. Don’t underestimate your government! Is it Ben? Someone in the American government? Someone in the Taiwanese government?”

  Under different circumstances I would have burst into laughter. What he was suggesting was completely ludicrous. “No one has helped me. Would I have come to the consulate if I had a political agenda to hide or if the Americans or the Taiwanese had helped me? Would they have advised me to come tonight?” I asked.

  “It’s not for you to ask me questions! I’m asking you! Who helped you?”

  “Nobody helped me. Didn’t you hear me? I won’t answer any more of your questions,” I replied angrily.

  The conversation with the vice consul general went on for another half an hour, but I spoke little. Then another consulate official replaced him for another half an hour of interrogation and persuasion. It was like musical chairs. Every half an hour another official would take over the interrogation. Each left without any progress. In a strange way, after the initial fear and despair, I felt calmer as time went on. What do I have to fear if I’m about to lose my life? I thought.

  A couple of times during the interrogations I touched the scar on my arm, the one I received as a baby, the one that caused so much anxiety for my parents and that had now become a symbol of my niang’s love. When I touched it I could feel her love. It gave me comfo
rt. It gave me courage. It reminded me of where I came from and where I wanted to be.

  I didn’t regret what I had done. In a strange way I felt at peace with myself. Elizabeth was my first love. Our marriage was not a marriage of convenience. I knew I could have stayed in America by qualifying on my own artistic merits. Charles had told me this at our very first meeting. But still I felt a strong sense of sorrow for my parents. I hadn’t even sent them a single dollar yet.

  I felt the tears pushing upward through my throat. My poor dear niang. She had suffered enough hardship already. I thought of her wrinkled face and the sorrow she would feel if she never saw me again. Oh, how much I loved her! She was the most innocent and loving niang on this earth. She had given me everything, yet I had nothing to give her in return. Would my niang ever recover from her despair at losing one of her beloved sons? This would surely kill her.

  I thought too of my teachers who had invested so much of their time and effort in me, hoping that I would one day put Chinese ballet on the world map. Their hopes would be dashed. I would never see them again. But I was determined not to allow the consulate officials to see my tears or to sense my weakness.

  Downstairs, in the main room, everyone was shaken. The consulate officials changed their approach and went back to their pleasantries again, offering everyone drinks and engaging in idle conversation. Charles told me later that he’d sat there, bewildered, but at last he could stand it no longer. “Wait a minute, my client was just dragged out of here and I don’t know about the rest of you but I am not leaving until you have released him! You are in violation of U.S. law!”

  “I don’t understand, Mr. Foster,” Consul Zhang spoke up with genuine surprise. “You just told us that you strongly supported good U.S.-Sino relations.”

  “Yes, I did and I do,” Charles replied.

  “Well, what is good for China and for the United States is for Li to return to China. If he does not, U.S.-Sino relations will be harmed. So will the Houston Ballet and their planned tour to the People’s Republic of China.”

  Charles responded. “While we all may agree with you about what’s good for U.S.-China relations, there’s one problem with what you say. In the U.S., Li gets to make that decision.”