Three or four miles northwest of my hometown, there is a small town called Maotangqiao, on the north shore of Bodu Port, between Meili and Hongsheng. Because it is close to my hometown, I went there many times when I was a child. In my memory, the first time I went to Maotangqiao Town was in the early 1970s when I was in elementary school.
On a spring afternoon, the head teacher organized the class to go for an outing to Hongshan. After hiking for nearly two hours, we arrived at the southern foot of Hongshan Mountain. Climbing along the stone path, there are overgrown weeds in the stone gaps on both sides, the hillside is full of pine trees and green, and the birds are chirping among the branches. Climbing halfway up the mountain, a cemetery looms in front of you. The cemetery is desolate and decayed like a ruin, surrounded by rubble and rubble, with green bricks in the middle and weathered and broken moss. The raised loess is covered with thatch and lush green. The teacher said that this was the tomb of the saint Tabor and asked the group to bow down and pay homage. Taibo's Tomb is no stranger to him. People in the village often mention it when chatting, and they all call Taibo's Tomb the royal tomb. Standing at the cemetery, the young mind became pious, kowtowed and bowed solemnly, and held the ceremony. After the obeisance, the teacher arranged for the students to play a game of catching spies. It was said that there were two Taiwanese spies (played by classmates) hiding in the mountains, and all the students searched the mountains to catch the spies. The teacher's orders were like military orders, and the enthusiastic students scattered in all directions and disappeared into the jungle.
The event ended at about three o'clock. On the way back, we passed through the small town of Maotangqiao, and the teacher ordered us to take a rest. We were like a group of goats happily crowding the streets of the town, chirping, and the deserted streets suddenly became noisy. The town is not big, more than thirty meters long and less than three meters wide. The south side of the street is backed by water, and the north side is lined with shops. They are all low-rise bungalows with black tiles, gray walls, and wooden doors and windows. At the end of the street is a small stone bridge. Across the bridge is the cocoon shop of the supply and marketing cooperative, with an oil felt roof, a simple and spacious place. Along the paths paved with bluestones, stubborn monkeys sneaked into each store, including a noodle shop, a blacksmith shop, a teahouse, a grocery store, a barber shop, a pastry shop, a wreath shop... Students from well-off families simply paid a dime. , I asked for a bowl of wontons at a dim sum shop, sat down, and ate them hungrily. Other students stood around and watched, staring with saliva on their lips, watching as they swallowed one mouthful at a time, and finally drank the soup with water. As the sun sets, Yiyi bids farewell to the town, steps onto Maotang Bridge, and embarks on the way home.
Maotang Bridge is in the center of the town, spanning Bodu Port from north to south. The bridge deck is made of huge Jinshan strips. The bridge body is thick, stable and finely crafted. There is a pier along the street in the town. It is said to be a pier, but it is actually very simple. The stone revetment extends into the river, with only a cable boat stone embedded on it. The ships from Wuxi to Dangkou and the ships from Suzhou to Meicun dock when passing by, and guests disembark here. In my memory, I was waiting for visitors from Wuxi and visited the town several times.
The town has a market on the third, thirteenth and twenty-third days of the lunar calendar. What left a deep impression was that I went to a small town market to sell bamboo baskets for my uncle. In autumn, my uncle, who was living in poverty, secretly made eight bamboo baskets at night, planning to sell them to support the family. At that time, it was popular to cut off the tail of capitalism. Because my uncle's family was of high status and he was afraid of being discovered, he had to ask me to sell it in a small town. The morning light is dewy and the autumn wind is rustling. Full of hope, I shouldered my uncle's bamboo basket and stepped onto the Maotang Bridge made of stone slabs. The river surface in Bodu Port is wide open, "roaring, crashing", the rapid river water stirs up waves, lapping on both sides of the bank. The river water is clear, the water vapor is intertwined with the morning mist, and it is vast. Walking on the bridge, my legs and feet were tired and shaky. A strong gust of wind blew by, and I almost stumbled. In desperation, I held my breath and hurriedly crossed the bridge and entered the market. Put down the burden and display the bamboo baskets on the street. The sun is getting brighter, and people holding bamboo baskets, carrying vegetables, and carrying sacks are gradually entering the streets; the sounds of chickens and ducks, pigs howling, cries, and bargaining come and go. Suddenly, the voice of people was boiling, and the town suddenly became more alive and alive. I sat huddled on the edge of the border. I was young and shy, and I didn't dare to shout loudly to attract customers. He stared at the passers-by with beggar-like eyes, longing for someone to visit him. But very few came forward to inquire, and even fewer made purchases. I watched the crowds coming and going. It was nearly nine o'clock and the sun was shining brightly. Pedestrians gradually disappeared, and the noisy street became deserted. Not a single bamboo basket was sold, and my uncle's hope was dashed. I felt depressed, so I strung up the bamboo basket with a rope, carried it on my shoulders, and returned in frustration with a flat stomach. That disappointing experience and the face of the town have always remained in the body, lingering, mottled by time, appearing in dreams.
Several years later, the former Maotang Bridge made of stone slabs was demolished, and an arched cement bridge was built dozens of meters west of the old site, more than two meters wide and with a span of nearly 20 meters. . When going out to Wuxi, you have to take a bus from Xigan Road and pass through Maotang Bridge. I have been to Maotang Bridge many times and have a great view from a high position. Villages on both sides of the river are dotted and lined with green trees. From south to north, in front of the right side of the bridge, the houses and pedestrians are reflected in the water, and the shadow of the town is vaguely visible in the waves. But being entangled in the rush of personnel and struggling to make ends meet, I had no intention of paying attention to the town in front of me at that time, I just glanced at it in a hurry. On the front left is the grain warehouse. Dozens of huge grain warehouses that look like yurts stand there. The words "Prepare for war and prepare for famine for the people" are written in lime on the wall, which are dazzling and eye-catching in the sun. During the harvest season, nearby farmers rush here as soon as possible to sell public grain. Because the waterway was nearby, the villagers applied for a certificate from the township and came to the Maotangqiao Granary in other places to hand in public grain. The piles of rice and wheat seemed to have some connection with him. In his trance, his heart was filled with ripples and thoughts about the distant future.
As I get older, I seem to have a better understanding of the heritage of Maotang Bridge.
The town has a long history and was called Maotang Bridge in the Qing Dynasty. It was also recorded in the "Jinkui County Chronicle of Wuxi". Maotang Bridge was originally named "Sanrang Bridge". It was named by the people to commemorate the virtues of Tai Bo's "Sanrang Throne". It is similar to the Bodu Bridge, Zhide Bridge, Laoma Bridge and Miao'an Bridge on Bodu Port. Like many stone bridges, it facilitates the entry and exit of people on both sides of the Taiwan Strait and benefits future generations. In the book "Li Xiucheng's Autobiography", when talking about the tragic Suzhou defense battle in the late Taiping Rebellion, he repeatedly mentioned that he stationed troops at "Matang Bridge". The "Matang Bridge" mentioned in it, after Dong Chi's research, is today's "Matang Bridge".
In the 1990s, I boarded Maotang Bridge many times. Standing and staring at Bodu Port, there are many factories on both sides of the bank, and sewage is poured directly into the river. The clear river water has become dark and turbid, with an unpleasant stench. The banks collapsed, garbage poured into the river, and the river became smaller and smaller. The river is clogged with silt, and the water flow is no longer as fast as an old man walking slowly, and the river water is almost stagnant.
Late autumn, sunny days after rain. Facing the morning light, I drove to Maotang Bridge to look for the town in my memory. The narrow Xigan Road in the past has been built into the spacious and bright Taibo Avenue. Not far from Plum Village, there is a narrow gap beside Taibo Avenue. A narrow cement road leads to the riverside, with open green belts and forests on both sides. On the river, a bare concrete bridge is hidden in the shade of greenery on both sides. The railings are broken and broken, the bridge body is mottled and falling apart, and the bridge deck is full of potholes. Standing by the river, the three characters "Maotang Bridge" on the east side of the bridge are vigorous and powerful, making people familiar but strange. I looked around, trying to find the former towns, villages, and granaries, but they were all flattened and there was no trace. Instead, there are lush lawns, flowers, camphor trees, wooden bridges and flowing water. The birds are singing and the flowers are fragrant, and the scenery is pleasant. Thinking about it, amidst the rumble of bulldozers, the town disappeared in an instant with its mute groans and its last reserve. Walking along the winding cobblestone path and wandering around the original site of the town, the surroundings are filled with an air of emptiness, illusion, and confusion. The morning glow filled the sky, the sun overflowed, and a scene flashed in my thoughts: under the vast sky, a group of naked farmers were digging soil and digging canals. The chant of "Hmph, hum" was shocking. In the swaying light and shadow, Taibo took the lead, sometimes waving his hands to give orders, sometimes holding a shovel to load baskets...
Getting into the car and returning to Taibo Avenue. What leaps into view is that several huge chimneys stand in the southeast of Maotang Bridge with their empty belly like a mantis. While driving, tall buildings towering into the sky quickly retreated behind the car. Suddenly I remembered a poet’s poem about motorcycles: “Seventy miles away/the scenery in front of me/has been retreating rapidly in large tracts/those tears and pain were taken away by the whistling wind.
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