Professor Wang is not a professor. He is not a teacher. He doesn’t tutor 
small children on the weekends, nor does he coach little league soccer in his spare time. Professor Wang isn’t even legally employed. He doesn’t pay an income tax, but he still mysteriously has an income. I trust Professor Wang with my life; he has never let me down. Solid as a rock and squat like a roadside fire hydrant, he always gets me where I need to go without so much as a scratch.
Black Taxi
I first met Professor Wang through a complete stranger who gave me the professor’s phone number. Back when I was studying Chinese at Beijing Language and Culture University, Simon (from Switzerland) asked me about organizing transportation to visit Jinshanling and Simatai, two of my favorite portions of the ”Wild Great Wall.” There would be about 8 of us altogether, so I decided to look for a car that could seat that many. In front of my school’s gates there would often be cars sitting idly by, waiting to pick up students for a fee. These were not licensed taxis. They were simply people who had cars, willing to work as unlicensed taxis (called “black taxis”)in order to make a living. These black taxis can be found almost anywhere and everywhere in China. When I lived in Nanjing for half a year, the area I resided was overrun by black taxi drivers hanging out in front of bus stops and university gates, waiting like vultures to nab students as their prey. I made it a vow of mine never to use these black taxis while I was in Nanjing. For one, the cars were just so tiny. Another reason was that they would often be parked in the road right where the buses would unload passengers, causing the buses to swerve and let their passengers out in the middle of the road rather than next to the actual stop. My own personal struggle with the black taxi drivers has since softened after moving to Beijing, and I have more of a love/hate feeling towards them–love the driver, hate the phenomenon. Best to choose one driver and stick with him for good, and let him grow on me like a mushroom. Professor Wang is my mushroom (he’s shaped like one, too).
When Simon told me to locate a car to take 8 people to Jinshanling, I thought I’d try the black taxi route for an adventure. I went to the front gate of the university where I was living at the time and made contact with the first black taxi driver I saw. He was a young man, squatting on top of a concrete barrier, perfectly balanced like a monkey on a tree branch. I told him that I would need a sizeable car. He indicated his car, but it only seated four passengers. When I asked him if he knew of any other drivers who had large capacity vehicles, he wrote down the number of his friend, Mr. Wang. That’s when my relationship with the professor began.
The Reflector
Professor Wang drives a long white van that can comfortably seat 8 people, 
9 people if the last person is a child or has the same body shape and structure of the professor. The vehicle is 11 years old and still holds together relatively well. The windows on both sides are tinted the same shade as Professor Wang’s sunglasses, making the interior temperature on a hot summer’s day a few degrees cooler and more pleasant. Professor Wang didn’t always drive such a huge vehicle.
“In the beginning when I started this work, about 20 years ago, I just had a motorcycle. At that time there were hardly any cars in Beijing. You really had to be somebody to have a car. I would taxi people around on the back of my motorbike. Didn’t make a lot of money. This van (the Reflector) can fit a lot more passengers in the back.”
I’ve ridden in the Reflector about 5 times. Although I’m not an automotive expert, it seems that, just like Professor Wang’s body, the van could use a perpetual tune-up. It’s not that the Reflector is an unsafe vehicle by any means. It’s just that on 2 out of the 4 occasions that I’ve had the chance to ride in the Reflector, there have been minor mishaps along the way. The very first time that I rode in the Reflector (with the 7 other people going to Jinshanling), we had a flat tire about halfway there. There’s nothing wrong with a flat tire. It was rather exciting, to tell the truth. And the Professor…oh, the Professor…he was amazing. I think the flat tire delayed us for less than 10 minutes. With the speed of an Olympic hurtler and the grace of a Russian ballet dancer, Professor Wang was out of the driver’s seat and onto his hands and knees fixing the flat in a flash.
“No problem,” he said, not afraid to rumple his pants or get dust on his shiny
black shoes. Flexing his buttocks and aiming them towards the sky, the professor stooped over and began removing the tire’s carcass from the Reflector’s front left side. It was as the rest of us weren’t even there. The Professor and the Reflector were communicating on a level that I have never been able to do with regards to automobiles. Thinking that we would be there for a while, I left for the nearest shop to buy some snacks for the hike we would have later that day. Before I knew it, my Korean friend, Pebble, was texting me telling me to return to the car. The Professor had already changed the tire!
On the most recent trip to the Great Wall, the Reflector’s bones and inner organs were once again pushed to their breaking point. Once again, I made this trip with Simon, this time only the two of us sitting in the belly of the behemoth as we rested ourselves in preparation for one of the most dangerous sections of the Great Wall at Jiankou. Just as our own bodies would be tested and injured (Simon cut his finger) on the steep inclines of the mountains leading up to the Wall, the Reflector’s body would reveal injuries unbeknownst to us at the start of our journey. As we sat in the row of seats directly behind Professor Wang, the morning’s drive seemed to be progressing along without any hitches. With his eyes dead set on the road ahead and a sawed off baseball bat by his side, it seemed that nothing could impede our adventure. The Reflector, however, had other plans in mind.
“POP! Chpp Chpp Chpp Chpp Chpp Chpp Chpp Chpp Chpp Chpp…”
I looked in Professor Wang’s rearview mirror. The bags of flesh on his face disappeared almost instantly as he widened his eyes in surprise. For a moment, I thought we might be goners. I had never seen such an expression come across the Professor’s face…I didn’t even know his eyes could grow that large. This fear, however, vanished quickly. Almost instantly, the Professor’s face relaxed back into it’s silly putty gaze and my nerves calmed down once more. Simon and I glanced at one another listening to the strange slapping sound coming from somewhere underneath the Reflector. Thinking it was another flat tire, I was sure this would be no problem. Except this time, there was a slight burning smell that accompanied the sound. The Professor pulled the car over to the side of the road and got out to inspect. It wasn’t the tire.
“Move back. I need to look into the engine,” he said. Smooth. All business. A 
god. I was already satisfied with the day’s events. If we didn’t see the Wall, it didn’t matter to me. I was privileged enough to see Professor Wang in his “workshop,” (we were on the highway with cars whizzing past). He lifted up the seat to inspect the Reflector’s engine and set to work. His hands gathered grease everytime they plunged into the engine. Workhorse.
“It’s no big deal,” he said. “It’s just the power steering belt. It snapped. Let’s just sit here a couple of minutes, and then we’ll get going. It’ll smell a little bit when we drive, but it doesn’t matter. You can get back in the car.”
We sat there for a couple of minutes laughing about it. After the broken belt had cooled down (I suppose that’s what we were waiting for), he turned the key in the ignition and started the Reflector back up. With no power steering left, Professor Wang used his muscles to guide us to our destination.
The Man Behind the Machine
From conversations on the road to Jiankou:
Professor Wang is married with one son. His wife and son both have cars as well. All three of them are in the black taxi business.
“My son’s car is better than mine. Smaller, but newer. Maybe you could give him a try once.” He takes a sip from his tea thermos. “I don’t want my grandson to get into this business. There’s no stability. You never know when you’re going to get customers. Economic crisis? Yeah, it’s affected us, too. Most of my business is from foreign students. Probably 30 percent less than last year. And the cops! I’ve always gotta’ be on the lookout for the cops. Technically we’re not supposed to be aloud to drive around customers. They take a 20,000 RMB bite out of my ass if I get caught.”
It’s because of this fear of a fine that I refer to Professor Wang as “Professor” rather than “Driver.” Should we ever get pulled over, he is not a driver driving for profit. He’s simply our professor of contemporary Chinese history taking us on a field trip. No harm in that.
Professor Wang doesn’t have many hobbies. The only musical instrument he can play is the harmonica, but he hasn’t picked it up for years. His life is the road. He is in the habit of drinking Chinese grain alcohol every night with his dinner. It almost cost him his life once.
“See my right arm?” He shows us a long scar that was stitched up. “Bout four years back I had a drinking episode. Got a little sloppy. I was on my way back from the can when I slipped on the damn floor, and slid towards a window. My arm went right through the goddamn thing and busted the glass. Made a nasty cut right through my arm. Hurt like hell! They took me to the hospital and put a tourniquet near my shoulder to stop me from bleeding to death. Said they wouldn’t operate unless I could give them 20,000 RMB. Well, I didn’t have that kind of money. They must’ve had me in that tourniquet for hours before I could find a friend to loan me the money. Damn near lost that arm.” He shakes his head. “I was in the hospital for 2 weeks after the operation. Once I got out I was driving customers again. With one good arm!” He demonstrates how he would quickly switch gears with his right elbow, or perform all necessary actions with his left arm.
I ask him if he’s got any other scars to show me. He tells me to feel the back of his head. I do as I’m told. As I feel under the swirly mess of black and grey hair behind the comb over, my fingers notice quite an indentation in the back right portion of his skull. It almost feels like a small impression in a carpet due to having a paperweight rest in the same place for a prolonged period of time . A small bird could lay an egg there. A shiver goes down my spine. Simon reaches over and rubs Professor Wang’s skull as well.
“When I was young I liked to fight. I’d fight about anything. Wanted to be real tough. Friends liked to fight, too. Had a buddy who was in the mafia. Anyway, one time I got in this real mess of a fight with some guys. Can’t remember what it was about. We’re fighting, and then one of the guys comes up from behind and whacks me in the head with a metal pipe. My head’s had this cave in it ever since,” he taps his head and chuckles to himself. “No brain damage though. And doesn’t mess with my driving, either.”
On our way to Jiankou Great Wall, we pass many places that say “ecological village.” They are places that visitors can stay for the night, pick their own fruits and vegetables, enjoy the suburban air. They look like tourist traps.
“Dumbasses,” Professor Wang pipes in. “Ecological. They’ll ecologically con you out of your money is what.” As we near the Great Wall, the number of countryside restaurants increases. The Reflector chugs along; the Professor chuckles to himself. “These places are con artists, too,” he says. “You never see any of us eating there,” he points at himself with his thumb. “90 RMB for a kung pao chicken? Come on! Farmer’s food isn’t that good!”
The Professor has only driven to this portion of the Great Wall once, and he only gets lost once, driving to the end of a road in a village. After the wrong turn, he has us back on course immediately and we arrive at the base of the mountain and vertical cliffs that lead to the mountain. Simon and I exit the car and begin our hike, spending the following 5.5 hours walking up to and on the Wild Great Wall. Professor Wang waits inside the Reflector, patiently and loyally.
In the afternoon we walk from Jiankou to the Mutianyu section of the Great Wall, opting to take the chairlift down so as to rest our weary legs. I give Professor Wang a call asking him where he has parked. He and the Reflector have avoided the parking fee by waiting outside the gate. We walk past the stands of Great Wall kitcsh and memorabilia past the parking lot. There, resting just outside the gate, like a sleeping beast is the Reflector. Our aching bones lift our bodies into the seats behind Professor Wang for the final time of the journey. The day’s newspaper is strewn in the back of the car, one of its sections crumpled underneath my feet. He’s surely 
had enough time to read through the entire paper. As we make our way past the ecological tricksters and fruit trees, I make a request for Professor Wang to sing a song. After some urging, he gives in, clears his throat and sings the opening lines of an old favorite of his called “Camel Bell.” The song is about seeing a friend off to war and carries with it a sad melody of longing, loss, and farewell. With a voice that could make scratches upon smoke in the sky he belts the notes of the song out, almost having to yell in order to be heard over the sound of the wind rushing in through the windows. The song makes me nostalgic, but for what I cannot tell. Simon and I listen in silence. We make our way back to Beijing, cutting in and out of traffic, weaving through its backstreet shortcuts that the Professor knows so well. Before we realize it, the time comes to depart. With an exchange of cash and a handshake solid as a rock, Professor Wang closes the door of the Reflector and disappears into Beijing’s mass of cars, the melody of his song haunting my mind while the aches and pains of China’s Great Wall continue to run through my body.
