felt only total exhaustion as soon as the plane soared into the air. The past few months had worn me out and even up to the last seconds before the plane took off I feared that the Chinese government might still change its mind and I would be dragged off the plane and back to Beijing for ever.

The thought of never being allowed out of China again was terrifying. I so desperately wanted a freedom of expression and thought which I couldn't have in China. I so desperately wanted to conquer the ballet world. And here was my chance. Now I wouldn't have to dance for Mao's communist ideals. Now I could dance for myself, my parents, my teachers and my friends back in China. The communist influence was fading fast.

Janie Parker, one of the principal dancers of the Houston Ballet, picked me up from Houston Airport. I'd briefly met Janie towards the end of the summer school three months before and I remembered her sunny personality. I was so happy to see her again.

Janie drove me back to Ben's place through perfect autumn weather. I thought of the filthy, dusty Beijing air and I opened the car window to let the fresh, clean Houston air gust against my face, my long permed hair flying wildly in the wind. For a second I thought this was not real. I wasn't meant to be back here again.

I took a deep breath. My spirit felt free.

I was to stay for twelve months but even then I knew that America the second time around would be a totally different experience. My beliefs were now completely altered after my experience with the Ministry of Culture and after having the time to think about what I'd seen in the West. Now I knew, with absolute certainty, that I had been manipulated by Chairman Mao's communist propaganda for many years. My personal contribution to communism had never been important. I was just one of over one billion other Chinese people used as a political puppet and I felt deeply betrayed.

My first month back at the Houston Ballet Academy was a trial- and-error time—I kept discovering and experimenting with new things. Ben continued to let me stay with him and I continued my relentless pursuit of both English and dancing. I carried my list of new English words with me everywhere. But there were also the classes and rehearsals during the day and keeping up with Ben's busy social schedule in the evenings too. So soaking in the bath or sitting on the toilet remained the best times for me to memorise new English words. I tried to record something in my diary at least every other day, first in Chinese, but then as I increased my English vocabulary, my diary became fifty per cent Chinese, thirty per cent English and the rest was French ballet terminology.

Ben started rehearsals for Nutcracker soon after I arrived back in Houston. Ben's Nutcracker was completely different from the Baryshnikov version I'd seen on the video back in China but I immediately fell in love with it. It had the freedom of expression I'd been longing for. I did two solo roles, both requiring only straightforward dancing and no acting but I was so thankful to be in it: it was my first ballet with the company dancers.

It was through Nutcracker that I first noticed Lori Langlinais. She was in her early twenties, a talented dancer and a beautiful girl, full of life. Her contagious laugh reminded me of my niang's. We quickly became good friends, she treating me like a little brother and I regarding her as a big sister even though we had huge difficulties communicating with each other in those early weeks. We used to call each other "Big Ballerina" and "Big Ballerino".

Within those first few weeks I made many new friends, including Keith Lelliott, another dancer who was staying at Ben's place, and principal dancer Suzanne Longley. With Christmas now approaching, one of Ben's friends who had become my friend too, Preston Frazier, bought me a children's book about Christmas. With the help of my dictionary and some of the pictures I worked out that on Christmas Eve this long silverbearded man called Santa Claus would ride on a sled pulled by nine reindeer, all with very strange names. I remembered the one called Rudolph, because of Rudolf Nureyev, but what was even stranger was that Santa Claus went down people's chimneys and put presents in children's stockings! Sounds like a capitalist version of Lei Feng, I thought, the humble soldier Mao had promoted in China as one of his model communists. This must surely be Western propaganda. And what was even more amusing was that Jesus was born to a virgin. How bizarre!

Most of what I learnt about Christmas, however, was to do with shopping. With my limited scholarship money I bought a few presents for my American friends when Ben took me to the famous Galleria shopping mall just three days before Christmas. There was a mass of people there, all gone mad over shopping. Everyone carried enormous numbers of bags and pushed their way around the crowded mall. Christmas trees were everywhere—bells, ribbons, wreaths and all. It was incredible! But most incredible of all was the money. Ben spent nearly five thousand dollars on presents in only a couple of hours. My father's salary for sixty- five years! My father's entire lifetime of back-breaking work. My family could live on this amount for over half a century. Ben had spent it on presents in one day alone. It was incomprehensible. It was shocking. I thought of my family and felt sick. How could there be such disparity in the world?

The Christmas Day party at Ben's house was a mega-event as well, with over forty friends, dancers and students. Ben had at least one present for every person there. I even received presents from Santa Claus, left in my very own Christmas stocking hanging by the mirror in Ben's living room. Ben didn't have a fireplace though, so I wondered how on earth Santa had got in. But secretly, deep in my heart, I wished I could exchange even just a few of those presents for cash and give the money to my family instead. So many years of my father's earnings seemed tied up in those presents.

Ben's Christmas food was a feast too. A huge sizzling turkey, a big shining ham, trays and trays of roasted potatoes, cakes and puddings. I refused to guess how much he would have spent—it was simply too agonising. I kept telling myself to enjoy it but all I could think of was dried yams and my family's survival.

So many things like this in America shocked me. One day as I was being driven home by Ben's friend Richard I noticed that he was wearing a sports jacket which looked very smart. But it had patched elbows—and yet he drove a Mercedes. Only the poor wear patched clothes, I said to him. He thought this was very funny. Then he asked me what I would like to do most in America. I told him I would like to be able to drive a car, so he pulled over.

"Come on, you drive," he said.

"I don't know how!"

"Just push on the pedal and watch the road. Easy," he said. I got into the driver's seat, nervously pushed on the pedal and the car immediately accelerated. The speed took me by complete surprise, so I pushed my foot down harder. I froze. Richard made a desperate grab for the steering wheel and slid one of his legs over to the brake. We were inches away from what appeared to be a very large ditch. "Oh, dear me, my heart is hot!" was all I could say.

My second driving experience was at Disneyland, this time in a golf cart. Dorio, another principal dancer, asked me to give it a try. Easier than driving a Mercedes, I thought. But I was wrong. I pressed the accelerator and the cart started to move very slowly because we were going uphill. Dorio kept telling me to push my foot all the way down, so I did, but once we got over the top of the hill we quickly gathered speed and before I knew it, this time we really were stuck in a ditch, right between two huge trees. Perhaps, said Dorio politely, he would teach me how to drive properly another time.

After Christmas, when we'd finished the Nutcracker performances, Ben took me and some other dancers to a beach house in LaPorte, about an hour and a half from Houston, to celebrate the new year of 1980. It was a wonderful party. Ben made a delicious roast beef. Champagne flowed all night and we wished each other xin nian kuai le, Happy New Year. People made New Year resolutions, such as losing weight and so on.

But after much celebration, much food, champagne and wonderful company, I just wanted to escape for a little while. So with champagne glass in hand I quietly left my American friends, slipped out of the house unnoticed and strode along the beach, thinking only of my niang, my dia, my brothers and my friends back home. I wondered what they were doing just then. I wondered if they were thinking of me. I wondered what their next year would bring. I hoped, for all of them, that it would at least bring more food to eat.

The summer school that year attracted even more students than the one I'd attended the previous year. My friend Zhang Weiqiang received permission from the Ministry of Culture to come back for that summer school too, plus three more students from the Beijing Dance Academy. I was so happy to see some of my friends again and thrilled that they'd also had the opportunity to come to the West.

During this second summer school I met an eighteen-year-old girl from Florida called Elizabeth Mackey. At first I didn't notice her because there were so many people in each class, but then she sat right next to me during floor exercises. I felt self- conscious sitting so close. She wore her long hair loose and I noticed the subtle smell of her perfume, the sound of her breathing.

Throughout the summer school Elizabeth and I kept bumping into each other. Whenever our eyes met my heart beat faster. I wanted to get close to her but I kept telling myself, "Don't be silly. Elizabeth is a nice girl. She looks at everyone this way. Remember the Bandit's unrequited love? Concentrate on your dancing. You are not worthy of such a beautiful girl."

I had other things to concentrate on then too. Ben called me one day and said, "Li, Billy has just injured his back. Would you like to replace him and dance with Suzanne Longley tonight?"

"Me? Dance with Suzanne? Really?" My heart leapt. Billy was a principal dancer in the company. He and Suzanne were guest artists that night, dancing Ben's pas de deux in the Houston Grand Opera's Die Fledermaus in an outdoor theatre.

"But I don't know steps!" I shouted into the phone.

"I'll teach you. Hurry up, we'll wait for you."

I threw my practice clothes into my dance bag with shaking hands and ran all the way to the studio. It took me just over three hours to learn every step of the grand pas de deux and we didn't finish until late that afternoon. We barely had time to eat before going to the theatre for our stage rehearsal at 6.30 p.m. I had never been so nervous in my life.

"Li, are you feeling all right about doing this performance?" Ben asked. "Because you can still say no."

"Yes, I like perform it!" I replied eagerly.

"Are you nervous?" asked Suzanne.

"No, not nervous," I lied.

I wasn't just nervous. I was petrified. What if I forget the choreography? What if the audience boos? Will they throw objects at me? Do Americans do that? Cunxin, just remember to breathe and let the music help you. And whatever you do, don't let Suzanne fall to the ground.

As the introduction music for our pas de deux was played, Suzanne looked at me with a radiant smile. I forced a smile back. This is it, I thought. The test of your seven years training under Madame Mao. Remember your parents. Remember Teacher Xiao. Remember the Bandit and the Chinese people.

Suzanne and I charged onto the stage. My calves didn't cramp. I didn't forget any choreography. I was too nervous to know how well I danced but Suzanne gave me the biggest hug after the performance and the audience screamed and yelled.

Ben read me the reviews the next day: America had discovered a new star, from China of all places, they said.

To celebrate, I was taken out to dinner after the second performance. So many well-wishers wanted to talk to me that it took me for ever to finish my meal. The waiter kept asking me, with a pleasant smile, "Are you done, sir?" How nice, I thought, feeling rather proud. He's asking me if I'm a dancer. Even this waiter had watched my performance.

• • •

After my success with Suzanne, there seemed to be a magnet drawing me back to the academy. Secretly I was hoping to get a glimpse of Elizabeth. But hardly anyone was there because it was holiday time. Then, to my great surprise, as I passed a small studio, I saw Elizabeth practising alone.

"Hello," she smiled and with my heart racing I timidly entered the studio. "I thought you had gone away with Ben for a holiday," she said. "Where did you go?"

"Something called gufton."

"You mean Galveston?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, Gulfston!" I shouted excitedly.

She giggled. "Why are you back here?"

"I have lumps."

"Lumps?" she frowned.

"Yes, lumps. Look."

She burst into laughter. "It's called a rash."

"Oh," I murmured.

"Do you want me to take you anywhere? I have a car."

"No, thank you." I replied politely. Then, suddenly I said, "Yes! I want go Chinatown, see Bruce Lee movie! You can take me?"

Elizabeth was eighteen then. I was nervous and excited, walking out of the academy with her. I was afraid someone might see us together and tell Ben, but I tried to look calm and casual.

We went into a Chinese café across the street from the cinema, the kind with small square tables and plastic tablecloths. For the first time in my life I found myself sitting opposite a girl, alone, of my age, a girl I liked. She looked so beautiful.

"You can call me Liz if you want. What about you? What do your friends call you?" she asked.

"Cunxin," I replied.

"It's so pretty," she said.

"It mean keep my innocent heart," I said.

"Cunxin, Cunxin, it's so beautiful," she murmured. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," I replied.

"I'm eighteen. How many brothers and sisters do you have?" she asked.

"Sex brothers," I replied.

"Six, not sex," she laughed.

"Oh, I can't hear they are different. What sex mean?"

"Maybe I can explain it to you later."

I could sense she was uncomfortable. "English hard. In English, you say go, goes, gone. In Chinese we say will go, go and go yesterday, he go, she go, you go, I go and we all go."

She burst into laughter.

"Really!" I said. "English, change verb all the time. Is hard for Chinese person."

"But you're doing very well," she said. "We'd better go or we'll be late for the movie."

There were not that many people in the cinema and I found it hard to concentrate with Elizabeth sitting next to me. I wanted to know her better but I doubted Elizabeth would show me any special interest. So I was surprised when, after the movie, she agreed to have dinner with me.

We went to a small, cheap Chinese restaurant. We asked each other many questions and although we had difficulty understanding each other we managed, and we enjoyed being with each other. I ordered some authentic Chinese food—pig's intestines and sea slugs. That would impress her, I thought, but she seemed to have a rather small appetite. Still, I started to relax, and by the end of the evening I felt sad to part with her.

Before we approached Ben's apartment I told her to stop the car because I didn't want the security guard to see us. If he told Ben that I was having a relationship with an American, Ben would be placed in a very difficult situation. He'd have to tell the Chinese consulate and I would be sent straight back to China.

Elizabeth stopped her car one block away from Ben's complex. "When can we see each other again?"

"Don't know," I replied. I reached out and we touched hands. I felt her breath. I felt hot blood rushing through each vein. I don't know how long we kissed but the headlights of a passing car interrupted us. This was happening too fast. I needed time to think. So I quickly said goodbye and got out of her car.

"You'll call me, won't you?" she asked.

I nodded and walked back to Ben's apartment.

Elizabeth became my first lover. I felt liberated. I couldn't believe I could make love to a beautiful woman and that she could be mine. I felt a great sense of responsibility for Elizabeth, and great pride too. But I knew our secret relationship was dangerous and the only person I could think of to share my secret with was Lori. She'd sometimes tried to persuade me to stay in America but I had always said no. She felt sorry for me, having to go back to China.

A few weeks later, one Sunday, Lori invited me to her house for a barbecue. I met her husband Delworth, a Texas oil entrepreneur who chewed tobacco and drank bourbon. I told them how much I liked Elizabeth and the sorrow I felt about returning to China. I didn't expect them to do anything about it but they took this matter to heart straightaway. Delworth called the University of Texas and asked if they could recommend a good immigration lawyer. They suggested a man called Charles Foster.

The following day Lori and Delworth took me to Charles Foster's office in downtown Houston.

Charles Foster said he had read about me in the newspaper. He said I could qualify for a green card on my own artistic merits. He also mentioned that the Chinese government recognised international marriage laws.

I remember feeling unsure, not about my love for Elizabeth, but Charles seemed very young to be so successful and I didn't really understand everything he'd said about the law anyway.

Lori and Delworth tried to explain more but I left that first meeting still very confused. I loved Elizabeth. And I couldn't go back to China and survive in a world with no freedom. Not any more. But China was where my parents were, where my family and my friends lived. I could still contribute an enormous amount to Chinese ballet.

It was then that I realised I was torn between two possible lives. I didn't know what I was going to do.