The Fish can Sing by Halldór Laxness

That summer, things began to look up a little for me. For many years I had not dared to open my mouth to sing within earshot of anyone else for fear of the sound that might come out. But when I was away on errands far from any company, either down at Skerjafjörur or at Sogin, the pressure of the melodies building up inside me forced me to utter bursts of sound; and that summer, my throat began to produce noises something like the note I was trying to achieve. After that I seized every possible opportunity of exercising my voice whenever I found solitude.

It so happened one day that I caught sight of our Pastor Johann, now in his eighties, hobbling up to the churchyard, almost bent double now, behind the coffin of some stranger. So I joined him, as I had done when I was small. Unbidden, I sang Just as the One True Flower over the coffin, nearly the whole psalm, if I remember rightly. When I had finished singing and Pastor Johann had scattered earth over the coffin, he came over to me, much moved, and took me by the hand and said: