Paradise. Greg Fried

people would listen to her; they’d hear a conquering fighter speak out, and they’d stand up against the way animals were treated. But she knew now that wasn’t going to happen. No one had any idea who judo champions were – and anyway, she wasn’t one, not yet. Maybe it made more sense to chuck it in, the stuff with the animals, and focus on her sport.

      She was in a gym class at opening time the next morning, getting an extra session into her day. Her illness had lifted completely and her shoulder was feeling usable, if tender, after her pre-workout anti-inflammatory pills. The African Championships were a week behind her and though they’d gone badly, there was no reason to give up hope; she had a month until the next competition, a local event that would decide whether she’d be on the national team for the coming year. She could use her place on the team to try for the African Championships again next year. And from there, if everything went well – it would, after all the training – the World Championships. Maybe the Olympics.

      After the warm up, the instructor, who played for Ajax Cape Town F.C., said they should all be outside, enjoying the beautiful early-morning light. The class left their keys and sweat towels behind as they tumbled down the stairs, boisterous as schoolchildren. Surita followed at the back. Even during class, when people tended to be chatty, she preferred her own company. It wasn’t so much that she enjoyed being alone, but that she often felt tense around others.

      Today they were going to run along the Liesbeek Canal to the Fountain Centre in Rondebosch and back again, an easy, flat three kilometres. Some of the others carried water bottles, but Surita didn’t allow herself to drink during gym. Discipline was an all-or-nothing affair. Train yourself to endure thirst and it becomes easier to push yourself on the mat. Deprivation was the best training for deprivation.

      A few young men stretched their calves in front of her, discussing the five-day cricket match at Newlands and the likelihood of South Africa turning things around. Surita bounced gently on the pads of her feet, building tension for the impending sprint. Then one of them, a tall, broad-shouldered fellow with olive skin, came over to her. “You new in the group?”

      She nodded.

      “Fairly hectic, this class.”

      “I’ll manage.”

      “Ja, you look like you’re up to it. We’re quite competitive, actually. If there’s a run, it’s always: who’ll win?” He laughed.

      Surita didn’t say anything. He cast around for another topic, looked down at her shoes. “Are those the new Nikes?”

      “I’ve had them a few years.”

      “They look pretty new.”

      “I take care of them,” she said shortly, and returned to her warm up.

      Be like a laser: narrow and sharp. In other words, if you find yourself hanging out with a big guy during your morning run, your task is to beat him.

      When the instructor casually said, “Let’s go,” she took off along the concrete path next to the canal. Her strides were short but fast and she was quickly ahead of the group, though the man who’d come up to her kept at her heels. She could hear him puffing, his great body taking in lungfuls of the somewhat polluted air – Main Road was right above them, obscured by foliage. She played with him a bit, pushing her pace and listening for the panting, then holding back to let him catch his breath. She enjoyed controlling him this way; he was like an enormous balloon being pulled along on a string behind her. On the way back, she would run properly.

      The giant balloon-man was now passing her, breathing heavily, using all his energy to swerve around her on the narrow path. She let him, watching as he half swivelled his head to look at her, triumphant. It would be more satisfying to let him think he was winning, then come up from behind and overtake him at the end. Surita watched his retreating back and the way his body swayed slightly as he ran, using up energy he didn’t have, going into overdraft.

      “Yissis,” said the man, coming up to her after the run, when they were all stretching outside the gym entrance. He looked like he’d been in a sauna. “Hell of a race. Did I nearly have you or what?”

      “You had no chance,” said Surita.

      The man laughed. “Are you like a professional runner or something?”

      “Judo.” I don’t need to be a professional to beat you, she thought.

      “Serious?” The man made a few martial arts-type chops through the air, his sweaty hand whisking diagonally left and then right. “Messing with you is the last mistake anyone could make.”

      “You’re right about that,” she said, folding her arms.

      The man nodded, smiling, trying to find an entry into a real conversation, but Surita wasn’t giving it to him. “Well,” he finally said, “see you next time, hey? I’ll give you more of a challenge. I’ll wear a rocket.”

      She waved and bent to tie her shoelaces.

      She needed to keep her life simple. This run had barely touched sides. Why not walk straight to the dojo and do a proper workout right now? She could fit one in before her afternoon classes with the kids.

      Surita felt buoyed by this decision. Soon she passed Newlands pool, where already a queue snaked all the way through the parking lot. The day was going to be a scorcher. Up she went, past the vet on the corner, then turned right into a cul-de-sac. She passed the dojo and walked to the end of the street, where there was a grass bank with a pipe protruding from it. Water from an underground stream spewed from the pipe, flowing down a stony slope that fell sharply to the river below. The river was low in December, a brook in a rocky bed, but the water rushed and glinted in the light. On either side of the water tall oak trees cast long shadows.

      She knelt next to the pipe, cupping her hands. There was something right about this water. She drank deeply, as if through swallowing it she could absorb its purity. And the endless abundance – even when no one was around, the water came gushing through. Free and plentiful and delicious. Not much in life like that. Surita was refreshed and ready to push herself.