“So, do you see the ship to England now?” he asked. “Out there?”

  Singer looked a bit confused as he scanned Lake Heddal, but he reluctantly had to shake his head.

  “What? You don’t see it? But you do see the Not­odden train station, don’t you? Take a look and make sure you can still see it.”

  And Singer, holding his glass in his right hand, leaned over the balustrade and was able to confirm that yes, down there and off to the left he could see the Not­odden train station.

  “1909. That’s when it was built. That’s when the Rjukan Line opened. Everything happened very fast. It was a race against time. All over Europe heavy industry was experimenting with methods for producing synthetic fertilizer, which the world was hungering for. The Not­odden Saltpeter Factory was a test factory, put up in all haste in order to convince international investors that Norsk Hydro’s method for producing synthetic fertilizer here in the Norwegian mountains was worth betting on. But this method was at the experimental stage. During the entire construction process, they experimented with improvements, often resulting in shattered illusions. But in October 1907 they began building the train station, with the international investors present, so they could see with their own eyes why this was something that deserved their further attention. It went well. They were willing to continue betting on it. In the closed-in and narrow valley behind Mount Gaustatoppen — a place called Rjukan — right before New Year’s, only two months after the Not­odden project had turned out to be a success, they broke ground to lay tracks for a whole new railway line. From Rjukan to Not­odden. It was a stretch of tracks through the most remote region a railway line had ever been constructed. In August 1909, the first train traveled from Not­odden to Rjukan, with His Majesty King Haakon VII as the guest of honor.

  “And with that the port town of Not­odden became a reality. Because from the so-called railroad dock right next to the train station, the products from the industrial giant near Rjukan would be loaded onto ships carrying them onward, beyond the borders of Norway. To the whole world. That was the most important thing about Not­odden. This railroad dock. Not the Not­odden Saltpeter Factory, which was certainly going like gangbusters and operating at a big profit, but it was and would always be a lesser project in Norsk Hydro’s industrial empire in the interior of Telemark. In 1910 a new canal plan was proposed. Now there was a rush to get started on the masonry work, excavation, and construction of a large-scale lock system down in the Skien district so that the loaded steamships from Not­odden could get through. Sea and harbor. Hustle and bustle. Can you smell the sea? I certainly think I can smell the salty air of the sea, yes indeed,” said Adam Eyde, though without waiting for Singer’s potential confirmation, before taking in a deep breath of the sultry summer air up here in the interior of Telemark. “But no,” he said, “it was and would always be an illusion. Yet it was on this smell of the salty sea that Not­odden was founded. Alas, how true, how true!” exclaimed Adam Eyde. “Because all sorts of things began to happen that were not to Not­odden’s benefit.

  “In July 1908 the Norwegian parliament approved the first section of the Sørlandet Line as a stretch of tracks between Kongsberg and Neslandsvatn. This was approved with the laying of two spur tracks, one from Neslandsvatn down to Kragerø, the other as a spur track from Hjuksebø to Not­odden. So the Rjukan Line would be connected to the Sørlandet Line. Initially this meant that freight-train traffic could proceed directly from Rjukan to Oslo, or Kristiania, spelled with a K, if you want to be precise. But this didn’t mean that the idea of Not­odden as a port town would be scrapped. On the contrary, as you heard, a new canal plan was proposed in 1910. Such large-scale production was expected from the synthetic fertilizer giant in the interior of Telemark that it seemed like a viable plan to construct both a railroad connection to the capital city and a harbor in Not­odden.

  “At this time the following rail connections existed in our part of Norway: Oslo to Drammen to Kongsberg, which would now be extended to Neslandsvatn, and later to Kristiansand. In addition, a Vestfold Line, or Jarlsberg Line as it was called, from Kristiania to Skien. The tracks of the new Sørlandet Line would go up to Bø in central Telemark, and now under discussion was how the Skien district would be connected to this new Sørlandet Line. Two options were considered, which caused great controversy all over Telemark; it had to do with whether the tracks would be on the west side of Lake Norsjø, or on the east side. Tracks on the west side would go through some of the most populated and fertile rural communities in Telemark, while on the east side they would go through relatively desolate stretches, where there was very little need for people to be connected to the railroad, and yet the line on the east side was chosen. Why?

  “My dear friend,” said Adam Eyde. “The east-side line was chosen because that was what Norsk Hydro wanted. Via the east-side line Norsk Hydro would have the shortest possible route between the coast and Rjukan — deep in the interior, hidden away in a narrow and closed-in valley, where the sun doesn’t reach for a large part of the year. From Rjukan, via Hjuksebø, to Nordatugu, and from there along the east side of Lake Norsjø to Skien and the newly purchased dock at Porsgrunn. Freight train after freight train, without any reloading, from Rjukan to the coast. The most efficient connection imaginable, on a rail line that had very little traffic. A rail line which Norsk Hydro — for the most part, if you ignore the three or four trains a day traveling to connect with the Sørlandet Express — could have all to itself.

  “Goodbye, canal plan. Goodbye, harbor town Not­odden. Welcome to the inland town of Not­odden, beautifully situated on Lake Heddal. Welcome to a seventy-year-old mistake. Good afternoon, my name is Adam Eyde, I’m the district director of Norsk Hydro in Not­odden, and it’s my lot to clear up this mistake which has plagued us for all these years. And now, please do me the honor of being my guest; I think we should empty our glasses because I have a feeling that Mrs. Semb has dinner ready.”

  They emptied their glasses, and Adam Eyde ushered his guest across the lawn, past the elegant terrace and into the enormous luxury residence, where he led the way to a library with a table set for two. They enjoyed an excellent meal. Mrs. Semb started by serving a mushroom dish, the first chanterelles of the season, she informed them, handpicked in Nordmarka by the wife of General Manager Holte on the previous Sunday and sent by internal company mail. Sent this way were both the chanterelles and the main course — fried whiting, caught in the waters of Norsk Hydro’s own Frier Fjord right outside of Eidanger that very morning and sent directly by internal company mail from the Herøya plant. The fish had been fried in butter churned on the steep valley slopes at Rjukan. The whiting was stuffed with parsley, grown in the soil along Lake Heddal, and the carrots came from the same area, as did the new potatoes. For dessert: the first cloudberries, flown in from Glomfjord. With the food they enjoyed exquisite wines purchased by countless members of the Norsk Hydro family on their visits to tax-free shops in airports around the world. That was also where the cognac came from, while the coffee had been personally chosen by General Manager Holte during a visit to a coffee plantation in Brazil, when he was invited as a guest to the Borregaard wood-processing plant the previous winter. Adam Eyde seemed quite pensive during dinner and said very little. Only when they sat down to coffee and cognac — which they also enjoyed in the library but at a round table next to the fireplace, which of course wasn’t lit since it was the last day of the summer month of July — did he become talkative again, exclaiming to his guest and new friend:

  “My God, how we have struggled with this mistake! Because we were the ones, after all, who created Not­odden, but what were we supposed to do with it? There it was, serving no purpose at all. Or rather, any good we might derive from it we could obtain much more efficiently from other places. Oh, Not­odden may well be a mistake, but a mistake that Norsk Hydro has never abandoned. Even our headquarters was here. Where you’re sitting right now, that’s where the heads of the IG Farben chemical conglomerate in Germany sat and negotiated investments and plans so extensive that they impacted the lives of hundreds of thousands of people. Here. Right here in the mysterious region of Telemark, decisions were made that have meant life and death. No less than life and death. Times change, everything changes, but not Not­odden, which is Norsk Hydro’s mistake. Norsk Hydro moved its main production to Herøya, its headquarters to Oslo; the company has a large presence out in the world, producing gas at Karmøy and power in Glomfjord, and virtually nothing in Rjukan, but Rjukan is no mistake, it’s part of the world that is changing. Rjukan had its days of glory, but Not­odden has only been a mistake. However, we will never leave Not­odden, we insist on clinging to our mistake. We’re closing down everything here, but not without putting something else in its place. That’s my job. Through the years we’ve kept our biggest mistake in our thoughts, and never abandoned it. Keep in mind that we could have left Not­odden way back in 1917, when the Bratsberg Line was finished and Not­odden was left with an ordinary train station on the stretch between Rjukan and Eidanger. We could have abandoned Not­odden when we transitioned to the electric-arc process in 1928, but did we do that? No. That’s when we installed our first ammonia factory here. It’s true we intended to show IG Farben that it was possible to use other production means than the Haber-Bosch method, in case they thought their patent entitled them to it for all eternity. And we convinced them; once again Not­odden astonished the international investors — well done, Not­odden — but did we later shut down the ammonia factory because we were focusing big-time on ammonia production in Rjukan, where the natural conditions were better? No, we did not. We continued on in Not­odden with the ammonia factory that really could have been moved, lock, stock, and barrel, over the mountain to Rjukan. Or to Eidanger. We allowed it to stay in Not­odden. Later we built a sack factory here; the factory was supposed to produce sacks for all the products we produced around the world. And when plastic replaced the paper sack, what did we do then? Of course we opened a plastic-sack factory for our products. It wasn’t a given that it should be located in Not­odden, but we put it there. And not only that — at about the same time we bought an entire Respatex wall panel factory in Drammen and moved it to Not­odden. And where did we put the central warehouse? Since you are an enlightened man and librarian, you would naturally say in Herøya, but that’s not what we did. We put it in Not­odden. Which meant that all the way up until the 1960s we had almost a thousand employees on the payroll in this remote part of the country. And you have to ask yourself: Why, why? It certainly hasn’t been because of an insatiable greed for profit, I can assure you of that. But I think it’s about time for a drink,” cried Adam Eyde delightedly. “Now that it’s evening and getting dark, let’s go sit on the terrace and have a whiskey. We’ll help ourselves,” he said, going over to a lovely escritoire, which he opened to reveal a bar. He took out two tall highball glasses and poured two whiskeys, handing one to Singer, and then they strolled out to the terrace in the warm summer evening, where dark had now fallen. But Adam Eyde couldn’t settle down; once again he felt the need to take Singer over to the balustrade, and there they stood, looking down at the present-day Hydro plant and peering out at dark Lake Heddal. The factory was lit up, emitting a steady humming sound.

  Earlier, when it was bright daytime, Singer’s ears hadn’t been aware of the humming sound coming from the factory. But now that it was dark and the lights were on down below, he heard the humming sound.

  “The Factory,” said Adam Eyde, and his voice had an oddly dreamy quality to it. “What’s left of the Factory. Listen hard, because the humming will soon fall silent. In a couple of years we’ll shut down the rest of the Factory too, and then Norsk Hydro will be out of Not­odden. But we’ll be leaving our mark behind. We’re planning a different type of industry here. Plus a museum of industry; it will be Norway’s most impressive museum of industry, a monument to Norsk Hydro, to energy production and bold dreams, even to what is inconceivable. Maybe we should call it the Museum of the Inconceivable, what do you think about that? Yes, this is Not­odden, with a dormant train station, an imaginary England ship out there, and a shut-down manufacturing plant, which altogether constitute the Museum of the Inconceivable. Well, let’s go back, because I’m certain that by the time we’ve slowly walked across the lawn and reached the terrace, our glasses will be empty and we’ll need another drink.”

  And he was right. No sooner had they reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to the terrace than both Adam Eyde and Singer had emptied their glasses, and Eyde took both glasses inside to pour two more, while Singer took a seat on the terrace in the warm summer evening, here in the middle of Norway. Eyde came back with newly poured drinks, and they toasted each other. But Eyde was restless and took Singer along for another walk across the lawn. This time they didn’t stop at the balustrade, but simply turned around and went back the way they’d come, and when they reached the terrace again, Adam Eyde turned and set off on a new stroll across the lawn in the park of the luxurious residence while he chatted animatedly about himself and his interests.

  “Data!” he said. “Information technology! A museum! Art and culture! Education! Science! That’s Not­odden’s future, and that’s what we’re going to give to the town, which is no small thing, let me tell you. They signify what’s modern. Not­odden will be the center of everything modern. For the twenty-first century. Our parting thank you, that’s what it will be. Or our thanks for a good ride. The mistake from the beginning of this century will rise up and buzz with the sounds of the new era. Slightly quieter sounds, but it will still buzz and simmer here, just like in the good old days! Fashion!” he said. “We need to bring in boutique fashion companies. They can sew the Hydro logo onto teen clothes here. Not­odden can become a design center. Norsk Hydro has its contacts, we can make it happen. The Paris of the North. The fashion center of the North, it’s all a matter of thinking boldly and making use of the good will that a worldwide corporation possesses, and then we’ll make it happen. What do you say to that? Would you like to have the National Library here? Just tell me if you do. No? Well, then they can put it in Mo i Rana instead, it’d be nice for them up there. But what’s a shut-down coke factory compared to eighty years of Norsk Hydro? No, Not­odden should get the National Library. You don’t think so? Well, well, I suppose they need to make a living in Mo i Rana too, but dammit. The Not­odden National Library. We’d call it the Not­odden National Library, the name has a certain ring to it. What? You don’t agree? Well, all right.”

  Adam Eyde walked back and forth across the lawn in front of the enormous luxury residence where he lived, with Singer at his side. Singer was smoking a cigarette. The tip of the cigarette glowed in the dark of the warm evening. This was way back in 1983. It was a time when directors tolerated cigarette smoke, even if they’d personally given up smoking long ago, and when it was natural for someone like Singer, even in the presence of a Hydro director and at a Hydro director’s residence, to light up a cigarette without first asking permission, even indoors, as he’d done at dinner, though it’s true that an ashtray of solid silver had been discreetly placed next to his plate. Now he was walking next to Adam Eyde and having a smoke and holding a whiskey glass in his other hand. The two of them kept pace with their drinking and emptied their glasses at the same time, at the moment when they were only a few meters from the terrace steps and the huge, illuminated luxury villa.

  “I think we should have another,” said Eyde, “but let’s take a seat indoors.” Once again they sat down in front of the fireplace in the library, each with his newly poured, or newly mixed, whiskey and soda, with lots of ice.

  “So, in a few years I’ll be able to leave this place,” said Adam Eyde. “By then the new Not­odden will have been created, and I can leave. Where will I go? Back to headquarters, of course, though that’s not a given; I could actually picture myself moving to another company, preferably abroad, for that matter. But I’ve got it into my head that I want to be the new general manager of Norsk Hydro. Just wait, you’ll see. I’m the one who’ll lead Norsk Hydro into a new century. By then I will only be in my early fifties, at my peak, if I may say so. Not old, not young, in midlife, and strong. You don’t believe it? Oh, don’t pretend that you believe it, why should you, just because I say so? But pay attention and you’ll see. If Norsk Hydro, in the year 2000, does not have a boss who’s on fire, then I won’t have been the one who was chosen. It’s as simple as that.” So said Adam Eyde with a little smile as he emptied his glass in one sustained swig.

  “Another?” he asked, pouring himself one more while allowing Singer time to drink up before taking his glass and pouring one for him as well.