The Fish can Sing by Halldór Laxness

"Put your hand on me, Álfgrímur."

It was the same story every day after this: as soon as I came home from school, I went into the cubicle in the quiet of the afternoon, laid my hand on this woman, and sent a current through her. The woman invariably reacted with the proper trembling. As I have said already, the improvement in health that the woman obtained from this current was both spiritual and supernatural, according to her own judgement and that of her husband and of the doctors and other healers who were closest to this couple. But those scientists who carefully count the bones in dogs but cast doubt on the soul on the ground that its ownership cannot be assigned to people either by notarial certificate or by urine test, would perhaps have had different opinions about that. Whatever the facts of the matter, I just want to mention here, while I remember, that one fine day in the spring this excellent couple went away from Brekkukot, the woman completely recovered and unsupported, her husband an acknowledged pioneer in the spiritual field in this future capital of the nation, a clairvoyant, intellectual, soothsayer, psychologist, disciple of the Masters and I don't remember what else which was then coming into vogue, and had started writing spiritual reflections in the newspapers – besides the fact that he was wearing a brand new suit, and a pair of socks into the bargain.