Amanda is not alone when I arrive at the Wuhai station. She is accompanied 
by the spirit of Jesus Christ embodied in the form of a Chinese man in his late 30s. His English name is simply “Paul.” He has eyes that seem glazed over and possessed with purity. They are the kind of eyes that emit crazed hope, like someone who has been stranded on a deserted island for far too long but is sure that if we just keep on digging in the sand we’ll tunnel a path to freedom. There are smile lines around the eyes. The smile lines and tucked in shirt tell me that Paul was not always Jesus. He used to be up to frisky business…maybe in the government? Maybe a salesman? He seems like the kind of guy who has had many fingers in as many pies at one time or another. There’s something about Paul, about the Jesus-y quality of his voice that makes me a little bit wary. I keep a bead on it at all times while I’m in his presence. Standing beside Paul is his son, whose English name is Jacky. I had a boss named Jacky when I was in Nanjing. My students called him “the butcher.” This Jacky is just a kid of about 14 years old. He is gangly and going through the growth spurt that happens to all boys of this age. The three of us get into the back of Paul’s car.
“I thought you might want to have some kebabs,” Paul says. It’s after 10:30 at night already, but I’m game.
Jesus’ car is not fancy. It reminds me of the kind of car that a college kid would buy just to get around. As we drive through Wuhai’s streets lined on both sides by tall street lights, I notice that there are hardly any cars driving on the road.
“What’s this town famous for?” I ask Paul.
“Jacky, do you want to answer that question?” Paul asks Jacky in English.
“Um…coal…and calligraphy,” Jacky answers after thinking for a couple of seconds.
“Amanda told me about your Chinese name. That it means you like to study. I really think you must have AMAZING Chinese,” Paul tells me. “How do you study it? What’s your method?”
“Well, I just try to speak it as much as possible and…”
“Oh, he carries a little notebook around with him all the time to write down word he’s never heard,” Amanda cuts me off. “Jeffrey, show Jacky your notebook.”
I pull out my little notebook that I really do carry around with me wherever I go. This is my favorite notebook. It was given to me by Lynn, probably my best friend and co-founder of Chinareflection. She gave me my previous notebook as well. In both notebooks she wrote dedications on the first page…words of inspiration to keep me studying…to keep me on the right path. The first notebook would open up like a fan or scroll…almost like an accordian with the pages folded on top of each other. I used it so much that it fell apart. This second notebook is just a small, regular, brown notebook. The only thing that differs from this notebook and other notebooks is that it has a homemade touch. On the outside of the notebook is a little cloth sleeve that protects its cover and keeps it from falling apart. Lynn sowed this together by hand. My notebook has character. It is my Bible. I take it wherever I go. At meal times I sit on it, putting it underneath my right buttock. Eating and drinking with friends or new acquaintances is the best time to learn a language because people talk freely and will usually say whatever is on one’s mind. When we eat, we are at our most relaxed and most social. I have to keep my notebook prepared for any chance I have that may pass if I am not listening carefully. It rests underneath my buttock, ready to hatch open with new ideas and words at any time.
We arrive at an outdoor restaurant. The ground is strewn with discarded kebab sticks. Paul orders a bunch of them, too many. He also orders a kind of lamb stew and some beers as well. It’s far more than I want to eat. I hardly touch any of the lamb sticks. Just not that hungry at this time of day. Jacky, however, inhales the kebabs with just the kind of voracity that I would expect from the son of Jesus. Over beers we talk.
“So, Jeffrey, an amazing coincidence about today…” Amanda starts. “I told Paul that you are from Virginia. He was talking about going there. Also, my American friends just left today for Viriginia.”
“Really? Where do you want to go in Virginia?” I ask Paul. I grab a kebab. May as well help myself.
“Do you know Rocky Mount, Virginia?” he asks.
“Never heard of it,” I say.
“There’s a Bible college there called Blue Ridge School of the Prophets. Have you heard of it?” he asks.
“I don’t know…I’ll have to look it up. Why do you want to go to Bible college?”
“Well, I’m not 100 percent sure.” when Paul says “sure” his ‘s’ whistles a little bit. It sounds smooth, like he’s trying to hypnotize me. “If I feel the call from Jesus Christ…if I think it is my mission to go there, then I’ll try to go.”
“Oh. Ok…What got you interested in Christianity, anyway?” My kebab is finished. Jacky is eating the cubes of mutton like a madman.
“Some American teachers came here to Wuhai, and they started to talk to us about religion. It just appealed to me. I just know it’s true. That Jesus is there for me. And in China, there are more and more Chinese starting to believe in Christianity. It’s becoming better and better. Without this…without religion or something to believe in, it’s just money…are you Christian, Jeffrey?”
“Uh…no…I guess I’m Jewish…but I don’t believe.” Such a strange answer. I’ll have to spit this one out someday.
“I think America is losing it’s religion. China is starting to gain some. But it’s really the young people that are starting to believe. They need it.” He puts his right hand on the back of his son’s neck. “I don’t know…maybe I’ll go to Rocky Mount with Jacky if I do go.”
I later learn that Rocky Mount is only about an hour away from my home near Roanoke, Virginia. I imagine that there are some pretty deeply religious people up there in the mountains. A place so close to home that I had to come all the way to Wuhai, Inner Mongolia to discover it.
After a few minutes, they tell me what the general plan is for the next day. We’ll go to a “country school” in the morning where I’ll “teach” a class, or maybe two classes of students. I know to some extent what it is that I will do, but I’m still excited by the fact that I’ll be faced by complete strangers the next day…strangers ready to listen and hang on to my every word. They’ll look up at me and I’ll be a star. It sounds small-minded to chase such an environment, but I know that I’ll be a star. I’ve learned to accept and transcend this star status when I go to these small places in China. It would never happen like this in the States. I can’t imagine a Chinese person traveling to a community and receiving the same reception that I am lucky enough to receive in China. Save the odd English teacher, this town does not see any Westerners. I can be a bridge for these kids, if only for a day. I know that I’ll just be the “white face,” but I still like doing it. Maybe one of the kids that I’ll talk to the next day will truly want to listen to what I have to say. Maybe they won’t just look at me as “the foreigner.” Maybe one of the hundreds of kids that I meet will want to travel abroad after he/she meets me. It’s just a small kernel of hope, but it’s still a kernel.
Jacky polishes off the kebabs that are left, throwing the sticks down on the table and the ground. We get back in the Jesus’ mobile and Paul takes me to the hotel where I’ll be staying for the night. I have no idea in which direction we are traveling but feel completely safe in the car with these people whom I’ve only known collectively for less than a day.
“In the morning we’ll meet you for breakfast,” Paul says as we check into the hotel. The hotel is about 15 stories high. There’s not much activity in the lobby, and I’m sure I’m the only foreigner to be staying here at the time.
“You need to get some rest,” Amanda says. “You’ll need you’re energy for tomorrow.”
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