I sat on the plane and watched the thick clouds pass beneath. I had no desire to sleep. I could think only of my family, my family and friends who lived so simply yet made their happiness in their own ways.
Mary was sleeping now. I looked at her kind and peaceful face. I felt truly blessed to have found her, to have her by my side.
I had no idea what would happen next in our lives, but my guilt at leaving my family in China began to be replaced with excitement. The road I had travelled so far had had so many detours. Nothing had been smooth or easy. I knew the road ahead wouldn't be smooth or easy either, but what I could see was possibility. The possibilities of the world were so vast. And no matter what lay ahead or behind, I always had my niang, my dia, my brothers and friends, and Mary as my life-long companion.
I looked out of the aircraft window into the darkening sky. I saw myself as a small boy, running barefoot through the commune fields. I saw myself as a Red Guard, and I saw myself once again as Mao's last dancer endlessly practising in a dim and dusty dance studio in Beijing. I thought of my journey towards the most precious thing I had, my freedom, and of what had always propelled me forwards-my dia's pride and dignity, and my niang's extraordinary courage and unlimited love.
Postscript. Melbourne, 2003
Mary and I visited my family in China many times after that first visit in 1988. The speed of economic reform there and the improvements in people's living standards greatly impressed me each time.
Over the years, both Mary's dance career and mine continued to flourish. We were invited by companies internationally to guest perform and both of us felt we were at the height of our dance careers.
Our first child, Sophie, was born in 1989. She brought such happiness and laughter into our lives. My parents came back to Houston to help us look after Sophie so Mary could go back to dance again. They adored Sophie, especially my niang. Sophie was the daughter she had always longed for. They talked to her in Chinese endlessly: they knew she would be an important link with her relatives in China when she grew up. So Sophie had four adults showering endless love and care onto her, and for us life seemed perfect.
But then something happened which changed everything. Sophie was just eighteen months old and we had brought her and my parents to Australia while Mary and I were guest performing with the Australian Ballet. One day, a birthday balloon Sophie was playing with suddenly popped. The noise was so loud that it took all of us by surprise. All of us except Sophie. We became suspicious and had her hearing tested as soon as we returned home to Houston.
Sophie was diagnosed as profoundly deaf. We were in total shock. We couldn't believe our beloved daughter would never hear music, would never hear all the sounds we took for granted.
We did everything in our power to find the cause and a cure. From Western medicine to Eastern treatment, nothing helped.
Just ten days after Sophie's diagnosis, Mary decided to give up her dance career and devote all her time to teaching Sophie to speak. We were devastated just thinking of what Sophie would miss in life and the enormous task ahead of us. I knew Mary's sacrifice would end her dance career. To lose Mary in dance was like losing my shadow. It took me a long time to recover.
But for Mary, her journey with Sophie was just beginning. She poured every ounce of energy she had into Sophie. Each discovery of a new sound, each word uttered by Sophie, was an enormous milestone. But her progress was extremely slow.
When Sophie was four years old we were told about a new Australian invention called the cochlear implant or bionic ear. After extensive research, we decided Sophie should have the implant.
I still remember Sophie's eyes lighting up with excitement when she heard sound for the first time. With Mary's total dedication and the bionic ear, Sophie made rapid progress in her hearing and speech. She is now in a normal school, learning piano, ballet, jazz and tap. It's impossible to adequately describe how we lived through this difficult ordeal. Sophie truly is our miracle child.
In 1992, our second child arrived. Thomas was born with normal hearing and so was our third child, Bridie, who was born in 1997.
In 1995, after dancing with the Houston Ballet for nearly sixteen years, I decided to join the Australian Ballet as a principal artist and move to Melbourne. I had guest performed with the Australian Ballet on several occasions and enjoyed working with them, but to leave Ben, who had been my mentor for sixteen years, who was instrumental in the success of my career, was not easy. To leave America, the country that had granted me my freedom, was very emotional. But what helped me through this decision was that the Houston Ballet had been invited to perform in China at the end of that year: I would finish my career with the Houston Ballet in China, the place where it had all started.
I was excited beyond description about this trip back to China. Finally I would perform in front of my people, show them what I had achieved in the West over the past sixteen years. All of my brothers, sisters-in-law and relatives, over thirty of them, took the long train trip from Qingdao to Beijing to see me dance.
I performed in the same theatre where I had danced my first Swan Lake before I'd left China in 1979. I danced Romeo in Ben's Romeo and Juliet, and Janie Parker was my Juliet. The Central TV of China broadcast the opening night live-to five hundred million people throughout the country. To see the pride on Teacher Xiao's face, the excitement in the Bandit's eyes and to hear Fengtian and my former teachers, classmates and the entire audience cheering, was all I needed. My only sadness was that Zhang Shu wasn't there-he had died from a heart attack a few years before.
The Australian Ballet was a new challenge for me. I knew that at thirty-four years of age it wouldn't be easy, but with twenty-three years of artistry in me, with the love and support of Mary, with the unconditional love of my parents, with my newfound freedom, I had nothing to fear. Some of my most satisfying performances happened in those last three years with the Australian Ballet. I felt a sense of ultimate satisfaction, of perfect harmony between artistic and technical knowledge. And the Australian audiences embraced me warmly from the very beginning.
During my last few years of dancing I began to study finance on the weekends and in my free evenings. It took me three years to complete a diploma with the Australian Securities Institute and I was offered a job at a major stockbroking firm in Australia. However, the Australian Ballet wanted me to continue to dance. But I was thirty-six years old by then. Most dancers would have retired well before that. So in the end, a compromise was reached: I would be trained as an investment adviser and would continue to dance as a principal artist for a while longer.
I danced and learned about the stockbroking business for the next two years. But the workload eventually forced me to make a final decision-to permanently retire from dancing. I was thirty-eight years old.
Ben came to my last performance in Sydney and brought along with him the fondest wishes of everyone from the Houston Ballet. My last performance was as Basilio in Don Quixote. When I had danced this role at eighteen, I bashed through the performance, focusing only on the technical aspect of the role. At twenty-eight, I put all kinds of pressure on myself: I had to perform better than Baryshnikov or Nureyev, but I always came well short of my own expectations. But now, at thirty-eight, I was my own master. I had finally tasted Teacher Xiao's mango.
And where are all the others in my story now? Ben retired as the artistic director of the Houston Ballet after twenty-seven years at the reins. I attended his farewell gala in Houston -he had especially choreographed a solo for me to perform. Mary is still the love of my life and is currently teaching and coaching at the Australian Ballet. Elizabeth, I'd heard, remarried and her husband is a pilot. Charles Foster remains a close friend: we are godfathers to each other's children.