Journey to Portugal by José Saramago

It was in Torres Vedras that for the first time the traveller was entrusted with the keys to the house, and so, in a manner of speaking, came of age. Normally, the hotel door is locked at such and such an hour, and then what is a guest supposed to do? Ring the bell? Clap hands and call for the night porter? Nothing of the kind. All he has to do is put his hand in his pocket and take out the key he has been given, then simply go in as if into his own home. He doesn't have to apologise to any poor porter who stumbles out of the dark, roused from the sleep of the just. To the traveller it seemed like an excellent idea.

The next morning he had to choose what he should see, and decided on the Convento da Graga and the town museum. He was not disappointed. In the convent is a room covered with curious tiles that show episodes of the life of San Goncalo de Lagos, who was prior here at the time of his death in 1422. His tomb is also here, but he must not be a great miracle-worker because there are no obvious signs of any great devotion to him. The traveller always likes this kind of saint: they made all their efforts here on earth, overcoming who knows what temptations, and then in heaven did not receive any special powers. From time to time they perform a small miracle, just so they won't lose their place. They must be on the back benches of any conclave of saints; they vote when they have to, and are happy with that.