GOLDEN TORTOISE, THE

In the Niet Ban Temple

50 Vung Tau Raindrops pound the steely waves. Waves roll out of the blind horizon. Water falls. Waves roil as thick as rice flying in their winnowing fans. Jet skis and beach umbrellas dissolve. Only the slow steady water buffalo plod these smooth streets, their hooves puncturing the prickling rain. R After the storm, I climb rain-slick stone steps up many levels of pagoda, each with its Buddha or Quan Am altar, ascending a bell tower standing as if on watch for the return of the dragon from the sea. This solemn seaside temple is dubbed Niet Ban, which means Nirvana in Vietnamese. In the Niet Ban Temple On the cracked steps the incense peddler black teeth above bristled chin kisses my hand for the purchase. Before the bronze bell the kowtowing nun scalp cloaked with gray bristles mutters prayers for my prayer. I stand beneath the two soft hands and the downturned vessel of this goddess pouring mercy. R ...