Life Sketches by Terry Berkson

Nurse Winkie: an Age-old Story of Perseverence, Determination

A football game was on the television behind the bar. Geeter went over to the window. “Jees, look at her. She’s as big as a house,” he said.

“Who’s that?” Max asked.

“Winkie.”

“You mean Pete The Indian’s niece?

“Yeah,” Geeter replied.

“I haven’t seen her in a long time,” Max said.

“Neither has the guy that knocked her up.”

Max took his jacket from the back of a stool and rushed out the door. Winkie was walking up Church Street past the park. He ran to catch up with her.

“Hi Wink,” he called when she turned to see who was approaching.

“Hello Max,” she answered. “You just get to town?”

“Yesterday. Where’re you headed?”

“To Mrs. Proust’s. That’s where I’m staying.”

“Doesn’t your family live in back of the park anymore?”

“My mother and father broke up—she went back to the reservation.”

“I’ll walk you to Mrs. Proust’s,” Max said as clouds thickened and the afternoon grew pale.

“…So I left nursing school and came back to town,” Winkie sighed. “He’s coming out during intersession. Then we’ll be married. He’s going to be a doctor.”

“You’re almost a full-fledged nurse, Wink. How come you’re having a baby now?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

Max didn’t see her again until his Easter break from school. The child had come, but its father had not shown up. One night they went for a drive while Winkie’s sister watched the baby. It was unusually warm for that time of year. Max turned off the blacktop and followed a stone road down to the lake. He shut the engine and they just sat there, not talking. Lights glowed from cottages on the far shore. They could hear water washing against the footing of a nearby dock. Max leaned over and put his head in Winkie’s lap. She looked down and kissed him on the mouth.

“Are you feeling sorry for me?” she asked.

“Let’s not talk,” Max said, sitting up so that he could kiss her again.

“I’ll tell you right now, I don’t want to have another baby.”

When summer came, Max returned to town and stayed at his Aunt Ruta’s house while working on Patterson’s farm. The hard physical labor made the beer at The Schuyler House taste especially good while the village was buzzing with activity from campers and migrant workers shopping and attending the local fair.

At the end of the week, Max pulled up to Winkie’s place.

“Looks like a bunkhouse,” he told her when she came to the door.

“The hired hand used to live here,” she said.

It was dark and she led him inside.

“Want a cup of coffee, Max?”

“No, I’m alright—have you heard from him?

“The hired hand?”

“You know who I mean.”

“No, not for a while now.”

A few minutes later they were standing in the kitchen as their bodies brushed together. He began to rub his nose against hers.

“How’s that feel?” he said.

“Nothing special.”

“I thought Indians got off on rubbing noses.”

“That’s Eskimos, dummy.”

He laughed and then kissed her on the mouth.

“You want to go upstairs?” she said.

“Where’s the baby?”

“My sister’s watching her.”

In the morning, the sun filled the room. Winkie was sleeping with her mouth open. Max arched his neck and looked over the headboard to see out the window. A small, dark cloud was passing high above the branches of a tall basswood. There were dead moths lying on the window sill. He got on his knees and looked in back of the headboard. The dead moths were there, too.

He shook Winkie gently and told her that he was going downstairs. She mumbled something and wound herself in the covers. Max slipped into his clothes, remembering that he had left his shoes in the car. His bare feet brushed past more dead moths on the floor. Downstairs, he entered the kitchen to find the fridge bare. Someone was snoring in a back room. Outside, the sun was warm on his face. He got into his roadster, found a cigarette in a crushed pack between the seats, lit it and sat there for a while, smoking. Then he started the car and backed into the road.

In the afternoon, Max returned to Winkie’s place. Her younger sister was sitting on the porch steps with the baby. The front door was open and he could see Winkie sitting at the kitchen table, which was covered with open books. She was writing and kept blowing her raven hair away from her eyes.

“I’d have a cup of coffee with you,” she said. “But I’m to go on at the hospital in less than an hour.”

“What do you do there?”

“For now, I’m an aide,” Winkie said impatiently.

“Along with a baby, that doesn’t leave much time for study.”

“I get by.”

“Don’t you want to really know your stuff?

“Oh Max, mind your own business!”

Several nights later the sweat from their bodies ran together as they danced. The place was crowded and full of smoke. They stayed until the bartender’s voice rang out, “Last call!” Later, Max was carrying Winkie up the stairs like a fireman because he didn’t want his Aunt Ruta to hear four feet on the steps. She held onto the bannister and giggled. It threw him off balance and they almost fell. In his room she told him that she was leaving town. When he asked, “Why?” She said, “Isn’t it obvious?”

With a late cutting of hay finished, farmer Patterson wrote out a check while asking, “Will I see you next year?”

“I don’t know,” was Max’s answer. Then he drove home to clean up.
“Hello stranger,” Aunt Ruta sang. “You’ve gotten so dark!”

He lifted her cane from a chair and twirled it around.

“Put it back!” she protested in a staccato voice. “You always make me hunt for my cane! Did you eat yet?”

“No, I’m going out.”

“You naughty boy.”

He drove to The Schuyler House to have farmer Patterson’s check cashed. Geeter was there playing the bowling machine.

“There’s a dance at the Cornfield tonight. You wanna go?”

“I’m meeting Winkie in Utica,” Max answered.

“You ain’t getten serious with her?” Geeter asked.

“No,” was Max’s curt answer.

He finished his beer and left for Utica, where he would take Winkie to dinner.

“Now, I’m a full-fledged nurse,” she said into her drink.

“That’s great Wink,” Max said.

“What are you gonna be?”

“I don’t talk about it,” was Max’s answer.

“There’s someone I know,” Winkie groaned as she eyed the door. “I guess moving to Utica wasn’t far enough—let’s go.”

“Did you say your father was living with you?” Max asked a few minutes later while getting out of the car.

“It’s my apartment,” Winkie said. “If he doesn’t like it . . .”

“Where’s the baby?” Max asked as they entered a dim lit room.

“She’s with my father. I’ll go check on her.”

Winkie returned with a juicy ripe peach in her hand. They traded bites while sitting on a bed.

In the morning the room was dark because of the thick, red curtain that covered the window. Max could see that the sun was shining behind the fabric. Winkie was snoring gently. Surprised and even envious, he couldn’t help but regard the graduated nurse with admiration. She was sure of what she wanted and had succeeded in spite of everything.

There was a moth fluttering above their tangled covers. Max rose on one elbow and shooed it away.

Terry Berkson’s articles have appeared in “New York” magazine, “Automobile” magazine and many others. His memoir, “Corvette Odyssey,” has received many good reviews: “highly recommended with broad appeal,” says “Library Journal.”

Editor’s Note: An employee of Bassett Hospital for many years, Winkie died on the 16th of May, 2025. She was 76 years old.