Manufacture

“Black walnuts.” That's what I told the librarian when she glared at me as I sat down to use the computer. My fingers were blackened. Dark lines outlined each of my nails like eyeliner. My fingertips were blackest. The stain gradually turned brown where my fingers connect to my hand. My hands were mostly my mostly white skin color. Dirty though. Or, they appeared dirty.

“Black Walnuts,” I said again, raising my hands up so she could see the full extent to which my skin was stained. The look on her face grew colder. Her lips tightened; the bottom lip slightly tucking itself into her mouth. Her eyebrows stitched closer together. She scurried over to me at the computer station and forced a smile.

“Sir, if you wouldn’t mind washing your hands before using the computer, we can make sure it is clean for all of our guests.”

“I was foraging black walnuts,” I said to her, still holding my hands up. I explained that black walnuts contain a natural stain. In fact, it used to be used to dye fabrics. I’m sure some hippies still use it that way. I was not wearing gloves when I was foraging and therefore, my hands got stained. I assured her they were clean though. I picked up a piece of paper, creased it with my fingertips, and then showed her that it was still white.

She cautiously took the paper from my hand. She inspected it as if attempting to decipher the magic trick I just pulled off. How did none of the dirt from my hands transfer to the white paper? Then she nodded. “Stained. Oh I see.”

“Yeah,” I reassured her. They’ll probably be like this for a week. I should wear gloves next time I forage.”

“Forage?” She asked. I reiterated that I had stained my fingers while foraging black walnuts. “That’s where you’re losing me,” she jumped in quietly. “Walnuts are manufactured. They come from a bag in the store. Were you foraging in the grocery store?”

I paused, not quite sure how to answer. I tried to explain without insulting. “I usually get walnuts from the grocery store too. But this year, I decided I would check some of the local wooded areas to see if I could forage some. They fall off the walnut trees in September and October. You’ve probably seen some around.”

The librarian squinted. “Walnuts? In the woods? Like, a factory?”

“No,” I tried again. “No factories. I was just picking up walnuts in the wild. I don’t have a factory to process them so I had to do it with my hands.” I held up my stained hands again.

“Oh!” She relaxed her face and smiled. “Why didn’t you just say you worked in the factory? I guess factory work can leave your hands pretty stained. As long as they are clean!” She smiled again and walked back to her desk.

I sat at the chair for a few minutes, staring at the blank screen. Then I logged in and opened up a search engine. I typed in Walnuts. The first page of results were various grocery store links.

Then I typed in Foraging for Walnuts. No results. I can’t remember the last time a search turned up no results.

I typed in Walnut Trees. There was a full page of results under a heading that said Did you mean “Walnut Trespassing”? I clicked the link and it brought me to an article about the punishment for trespassing in a Walnut factory.

Another result showed a picture of a group of walnut factory workers, all with stained fingertips.

The librarian was on the phone, speaking quietly but urgently, shifting her eyes nervously to me.