The Hand of God The building-site crane arches high over the highway like a footbridge. A full-rigged   sailing ship could pass beneath it. Cement mixing trucks pause in its shadows   —hatched and striped—with drums revolving slowly like a ball idly   spun from hand to hand, or like the chambers of a revolver   in a game of Russian roulette. Wearing luminous jackets and white helmets   workmen swarm over the scaffolding as ants clamber all over   an animal’s corpse. At ground level, on a public road, there are dead-eyed   young women holding up paddles to…