“Ashes”

People will tell you they smoke cigars for a lot of reasons. The buzz. The flavor. The smell. Don’t believe what they say. They’re lying to you. If they want you to think Don’t believe them, either. They think they’re being honest. They’re missing the point. It’s about time. They love the time. Cigars are about time.Don Jaime Partagás y Rabell was born in Spain and moved to Cuba in 1831. He was fifteen. Fourteen years later, he founded his own cigar factory and named it La Flor de Tabacas de Partagás in honor of his family. Partagas still produces some of the world’s finest tobacco and rolls it into more than 10 million cigars each year. They sell Partagas is Havana and Berlin and London and Toronto. It won’t be long before they’re sold in the United States again. Don Jaime was murdered before he was fifty. The factory in his name makes strong cigars. People who know about these things say they are one of the two or three or four strongest cigars in the world. Maybe Don Jaime knew a little something about cigars. Maybe he knew about time.

If you’re a cigar person, the time one lasts is never long enough. It’s a smooth half hour, all warmth and light and aroma and conversation. Otherwise, you’ll spend a long forty-five minutes hoping the tobacco will burn itself out and wondering when you can change your shirt. There’s too much smoke in your eyes and ears and mouth to talk or listen and you wonder how anyone can enjoy this.

Cigars aren’t made quickly. Tobacco plants are kept indoors for ten weeks, but they still need months and months of rain, humidity, and rich soil to grow full enough to make a cigar. The leaves are green when they are harvested but after more months of curing, they are brown and almost dry. The leaves are sorted, bundled, and fermented in casks for two years. Then it’s on to the rollers. It’s been years since the tobacco was planted. Rollers are trained for over a year. There are machine rollers but those ruin a cigar. The rollers cut and wrap and bundle and vein and trim and inspect and finally pack.

A cigar is an ugly thing when it’s done. People say the best cigars burn without dropping an ash. You can see the burned tobacco, grey and dry, hanging on the end of the cigar. It shows you how much you have smoked and how much you have left to smoke. It dangles and it threatens to fall, but it is still there to remind you. It’s used up and it’s dusty and it’s time to mash it on the ground and leave its black soot behind. That’s all that left of that hour. The orange glow is gone and you drank all the whiskey and your friend told you what he thinks. So you called her and maybe you were buzzed because it was the biggest cigar of your life and maybe she thinks cigars are gross and says it’s over and no you can’t see her tonight. You wonder if Don Jaime’s fifty years were worth it and if cigar rolling is a fulfilling job and you open the box and look at the dozen cigars and wonder who would ever want to smoke any of them with you.