Zoo Station: The Story of Christiane F. (26 page)

Young addicts working the Kurfürstenstrasse in Berlin.

Werner H., 21, and Michael S., 21, at the Kurfürstendamm subway station. Werner H.: “I started shooting up at 16. I was sentenced to three years in jail, and after that no one had time for me any more…. I don't stand a chance anymore, I'm in way too deep.

Michael S.: “I started when I was 15. But I don't want to lose hope. I just have to find something that I can hold on to, that I can believe in, and then maybe I'll be able to get clean. ”

Bärbel W., 21, at the Eisenach youth hostel. “I shot up for the first time when I was 13 years old. Working as a hooker is disgusting, but for girls it's the only way we know to get the money we need. If you want to quit, you need to have a reason. And right now I just don't.”

Karin S., 17, in front of the public bathrooms at Bülowbogen: “I started shooting up when I was 13. When my mom realized what was going on, she called the police. She really thought that I would stop using in jail. But it was just as easy to score dope in there as it was on the street. When you start as early as I did, you don't really have a chance.”

A typically desolate apartment in the Beusselstrasse (Beussel Street), Berlin. Almost every heroin addict sells off anything valuable he owns right away—from the iron (and ironing board) to the stereo system—to help buy himself heroin.

Rudi H., 17, and Dirk L., 18, selling themselves at Zoo Station. Rudi says: “I've been shooting up for three months now, and prostitution is the only way that I can get the money I need.” Dirk had been shooting up for a year and a half: “Once I went into detox and got a job, but then my boss found out about my past and fired me. I'm not afraid of the physical withdrawal, only of what comes after.”

Jürgen became a regular. He was bi, and most of the time we visited him together. I would entertain him up top and Detlef would attend to things down below. We always got a hundred marks for that. Sometimes one of us would go alone, too, for sixty marks. It goes without saying that Jürgen was, on the one hand, a john like any other—not the best, but not that gross either. At the same time, he was the only customer for whom I felt something like friendship. I respected him. I liked talking to him. He was interesting and often had some real insights. He lived in the real world, and he lived well.

I especially admired the way he handled money. That was the thing about him that interested me the most. He told me once about how, once he'd invested in something, the money almost seemed to grow by itself. He was incredibly generous. He didn't pay anyone else who attended his orgies, but once I was around when a younger guy asked him for a couple thousand marks, for a Mini Cooper. Jürgen didn't get into a big discussion about it. Instead, he just wrote out a check and said, “Here.” Jürgen was the only customer who would sometimes have me over without asking for anything from me. I sometimes watched TV with him at night. When I did, it seemed like all was right again with the world, at least while I was there.