Hit Parade of Tears


 HIT PARADE OF TEARS
 
 
 HIT PARADE OF TEARS
 Stories
 Izumi Suzuki
 Translated by Sam Bett, David Boyd,Helen O’Horan, and Daniel Joseph
 
 
 
 First published by Verso 2023
 The stories here appeared originally in Japanese in Keiyaku: Suzuki Izumi Sf Zenshū(Covenant: The Complete Science Fiction of Izumi Suzuki), by Suzuki Izumi
 Collection copyright © 2014 by Suzuki Azusa
 Originally published in Japan by BUNYU-SHA Inc.
 English translation rights arranged with BUNYU-SHA Inc. through the Sakai Agency
 Translation of “My Guy” and “Trial Witch” © Sam Bett 2023
 Translation of “Full of Malice” and “Hey, It’s a Love Psychedelic!” © David Boyd 2023
 Translation of “Hit Parade of Tears,” “I’ll Never Forget,” and“Memory of Water” © Helen O’Horan 2023
 Translation of “After Everything,” “The Covenant,” “Softly, as in a Morning Sunrise,” and“The Walker” © Daniel Joseph 2023
 All rights reserved
 The moral rights of the author and translators have been asserted
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 Verso
 UK: 6 Meard Street, London W1F 0EG
 US: 388 Atlantic Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11217
 versobooks.com
 Verso is the imprint of New Left Books
 ISBN-13: 978-1-83976-849-1
 ISBN-13: 978-1-83976-019-8 (US EBK)
 ISBN-13: 978-1-83976-018-1 (UK EBK)
 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
 Names: Suzuki, Izumi, 1949–1986, author. | Bett, Sam, 1986– translator. | Boyd, David (David G.), translator. | O’Horan, Helen, translator. | Joseph, Daniel (Translator), translator.
 Title: Hit parade of tears : stories / Izumi Suzuki ; translated by Sam Bett, David Boyd, Helen O’Horan, and Daniel Joseph.
 Other titles: Keiyaku. English
 Description: London ; New York : Verso, 2023. | Originally published in Japanese under title Keiyaku: Suzuki Izumi Sf Zenshū (Covenant: The Complete Science Fiction of Suzuki Izumi).
 Identifiers: LCCN 2022054487 (print) | LCCN 2022054488 (ebook) | ISBN 9781839768491 (paperback) | ISBN 9781839760198 (US ebk) | ISBN 9781839760181 (UK ebk)
 Subjects: LCSH: Suzuki, Izumi, 1949–1986—Translations into English. | LCGFT: Science fiction. | Fantasy fiction. | Short stories.
 Classification: LCC PL861.U9265 K4513 2023 (print) | LCC PL861.U9265 (ebook) | DDC 895.63/5—dc23/eng/20221221
 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022054487
 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022054488
 Typeset in Electra by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh
 Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY
 
 
 CONTENTS
 My Guy
 Trial Witch
 Full of Malice
 Hey, It’s a Love Psychedelic!
 After Everything
 The Covenant
 The Walker
 Softly, as in a Morning Sunrise
 Memory of Water
 I’ll Never Forget
 Hit Parade of Tears
 
 
 MY GUY
 The first time I saw him, he was in a phone booth near Shibuya Station, but I never would have found him if that creep hadn’t been chasing me.
 This was years ago. I was way prettier and cuter than I am now (obviously!) and had a bad-girl image that made sense for my age. I wanted every man on Earth to stop and look at me. It was an all-consuming task. I was no girl next door, I’ll give you that, but it’s a lot of work to walk around in five-inch heels, tripled-up eyelashes, and a miniskirt with a deep slit in the front. My friends called me “The Blondster,” because of my bleached hair. In one lap around the station, I could expect to get hit on by at least seven different men. The record for one lap was fourteen.
 “Hey, want to grab a cup of tea?”
 I say hit on, but these guys were wimps. (They assumed I was easy, as if any old pickup line would do.) All I wanted was to capture their attention. And maybe revel in a mixture of contempt and anger while I was at it. If I was going to say anything, it would’ve been: “Look, guys, I’m not that kind of girl, so why don’t you just stand there, have a think, and come up with a better line?”
 Instead, I’d turn up my nose, strut my stuff, and keep on moving.
 That day, though, things went differently than usual.
 This guy was pushy, a real creeper. He wouldn’t stop following me. “Hey, come on, babe, let’s grab a drink. Just give me thirty minutes,” he said, sounding all carefree, as if he could have kept it up all night. His eyes were dead, like they were made of glass.
 I tried speeding up, or running, or going into a café, but he followed me and showed no sign of discouragement. Running past the Toei Theater, I swerved toward a phone booth. I was going to call the cops. By that point I was really freaking out.
 But somebody was already inside. I hadn’t noticed him because he was sitting on the floor, like a vagrant slumped on the Bowery. When I opened the door, he looked at me like I was an intruder. Lunar eyes staring through the darkness.
 “Um, excuse me?” I said, in a voice that sounded hysterically shrill. “Sorry, but I’d like to make a call.”
 No answer.
 With the awe of a young child bumping up against the world for the first time, he blinked his mineral-white eyes at me, this random girl (remember, I was a girl at the time) who had thrown open the door.
 “Get out of here, will you? Or help me scare that creep away!”
 I was yelling now, I’d lost it. I stormed off, disregarding my absurdly high heels as I ran into the night. It’d have been different if I’d been in sweatpants, but dressed like that, I was out of breath in no time and had to stop to rest under a footbridge. My heels were honestly about to snap.
 When I turned around, the creep was gone.
 But in his place, the guy from the phone booth was standing inches from my face, the way people sneak up on you in a horror movie. I shrieked.
 The guy just stood there quietly, with this sort of puzzled look on his