I didn’t reply. I simply dived into the water. With steady strokes I swam toward the bottom. I could make out more details all the time. The farm was overgrown with plants, as if grass was still growing on the roof. There was a traditional fence in front, with the gate closed. I headed toward it.

There was energy in my strokes—I would make it, but at the same time I could feel the suction from the intake tunnel. It was covered by a screen, protecting the facility from leaves and trash. Now I could feel the water current, pulling me toward it. How much water, I thought, how much water disappears down into the tunnel every second, every minute, disappears down through the pipes, downward, downward, while the pressure increases more and more, meter by meter, until it finally reaches the power plant in Ringfjorden? And the water around me now, it’s headed there, it will become a part of the pressure, of the power, disappearing into the turbine, contributing to producing its rotations, becoming a part of the moment when the fall energy of every single, tiny drop is transformed into kinetic energy—passing through the generator, disappearing, transformed into electric signals. That is where it’s pulling me too.

But I didn’t allow myself to be pulled there. I resisted, continued on toward the summer farm, released a little air, the bubbles rising to the surface. I could feel the beginnings of pressure in my chest, the lack of oxygen, but the gate was right in front of me now and the air I had would be enough.

I reached out my hand, took hold of it—the woodwork was slick beneath my fingers, not like wood, like a snake. I took hold and tugged. Bubbles came out of my mouth, they flooded out uncontrollably. The gate was slippery and heavy to pull, but I could do it.

And then it was open. Now the sheep—no, the fish—could enter.

I let go of the gate, kicked away from it, tried not to release any more air, the more air I held in my lungs, the more quickly I would rise to the surface, but the pressure in my chest was growing. No time to equalize; my ears popped.

I saw Magnus far above me, keeping an eye on me.

Upward, upward, I would make it.

And finally, I gasped, inhaled, the water in my lungs stinging—a buzzing in my ears and the cold penetrating every cell.

“Did you see that?” I finally managed to say.

“Good Lord,” he said, laughing, fearfully. “I was trying to recall everything I know about lifesaving up here.”

We swam to land, climbed up onto shore, both of us shaking, our feet frozen.

Finally I caught my breath and turned toward the dam, toward the hydraulic construction.

“Admit that it’s ugly,” I said.