Boundaries between the possible and the impossible in everyday life dissolve in this short story by Gunnhild Øyehaug.

Norway’s Laila Stien tracks a group of Sámi herders guiding their reindeer on the seasonal migration to the north, fighting obstacles both natural and man-made.

They didn’t get any satisfaction from coming out.

The house knew how to determine what was important.

You can hang a man from a tree, but you cannot hang History with him.

We inherit memory the way we inherit the color of our eyes and skin.

A strange thing began to happen in the country.

“Why do you think they brought you here?”

“Why didn’t you tell her about the rooster?”

They stared hard at one another for a time, overcome with fear and doubt.

He knew he was a tyrant in his own way.

The realities of life in Indochina had nothing in common with those of France.

We were both quite fat, but Ali’s body carried more promise than mine.

Every night before they went to sleep, the people of the village imagined their own deaths.

“From here on out it’s rooftop to rooftop, hocam.”

I’m twelve years old, I won’t have to do a lot of time, I’ll be out before you know it.

“Erzurum is a wound I carry inside me.”

Did she or her housemates know about the secret of the bathroom?

Why didn’t you let the old man go, dude?

I hated this image that you invented: me, running, happy, slow motion, as if it were easy to call you Mama, Mommy, Mom so suddenly.

Isn’t it strange (the letter said to me), in Spanish there’s no word for what I am.

It all began by chance, when Arcadio heard the song “Melancholy” by the Orquestra Zodiac.

Respect, I now understood, was nothing more than the fear of his reaction.

Wouldn't you pay to speak to your house?

When I left Colombia, mothers still made sure their daughters’ knees weren’t showing; now nothing is left to the imagination.

Boulevard Barbès, Rochechouart, like a film clip, Arabs, blacks, half-whites.

Because punk is made so people like you will look at people like me.

My son now despises me.

I was the daughter of a tainted man.

I was thirteen years old, it was time to steal.

“Why? Wasn’t there a guava tree at the other guy’s place?”

I was convinced that I really had caused the death of the one I loved most.

There were a lot of weapons being brandished, a lot of threats being shouted, and there was a lot of waiting around. The intifada uprising shifted from the streets onto the TV.

He tossed and turned in his bed, trying to wrest those hours from his memory.

“It wasn’t a civil war. It was a rebellion.”

“They shoot them right outside their front door and then send their folks a bill for the bullets.”

They'd take the girls to the hills for three or five days.

I was bound. I was a registered piece of inventory. I was a liability. I wasn’t going anywhere.

The Fang forest is a free space. Now you are free.

He was a candy you wanted to pop in your mouth and suck real slow.

Damned parents,” he said in a soft voice, “look what they’ve made of me.”

You cover it up, disguise it, use Vaseline, soap . . .

Because of all that, I only rode buses that were almost empty.

It hadn’t been a gastronomic experience so much as an obstacle course.

I have always thought it a gastronomical barbarity to eat bacalao fresh.

Every time she visited, she felt a crushing weariness, as though her entire life were caving in on her.

In a house like this you imagined all the stories had happy endings.

On the street, in Alleyway S, the olive tree still grows.

I’ve chosen a life where I should be illiterate like my mother.

That thing about the bikini would get the gang all riled up.

This skin hanging like a wet sheet over bent bones would have seemed devastating to me.

How is it that in this big whoppin’ America there’s not a single little piece of baling wire?

Then the generous autumn of ’44 suddenly thrust into your hands the power to shape human fates.

“You’ve been trading in stolen knickers, haven’t you!”

He spoke quietly, calmly, with a certain despair that was discernible only on the fringes of his personality.

The first question is “Why did you get a dog?”

“That evening they rang the doorbell . . . . I never saw him again.”

The woman looks at the little girl and sees that her fear is as absolute as her joy was before.

A woman, on the contrary, has nothing to gain from a child.

Your activities over many years, as we scrupulously observed, did not provide any evidence to suggest you wished to regain your soul.