Jeff Laughed With His Bow Tie

"Jeff…fumbled with his bow tie" and then donned his "freshly…brushed and pressed swallow-tailed coat," a simple gesture foretelling already in the opening paragraph this day was to be special, for "such vanities" of "spruc[ing] up" were reserved for "once…or maybe twice…a year," for things like "a wedding"—or, as events shall soon reveal, a death. [56 words] 2. Perhaps the deepest irony of this tale—given our knee-jerk tendency to infuse any tale of black folks who suffer in the American South of the first half of the twentieth century with the heavy weight of racism—is Jeff's oh so human love for his life and home and land: though a black sharecropper, Jeff "surveyed the [vista of his acres, his home, his life] tenderly" and beheld a scene "he loved…with…unexplained affection," an affection making no mention whatsoever of racial rancor or taint. [85 words • 54 words without the parenthetical] 3.
In the first sentence, Jeff Patton's fingers "trembled with his bow tie," a subtle hint of fear—or anguish or dread or something wicked coming this way: clearly, at this first expression of trembling, nothing clear is known, yet here the suspense begins. [43 words] 4. As Jeff’s “fingers is gone democrat,” Arna Bontemps’ subtle metaphor displays wonderfully layered characterization and subtle craft: Jeff’s floundering fingers—more than just the flailings of mirrored reality—create a subtle foundation for coming revelations of both infirmity from a recent stroke and fear of imminent suicide, a hallmark layering of many levels with a single phrasing. [57 words] 5. Jeff's poignant breakdown before his coming rendezvous with death—"Jennie, I can't do it. I can't. His voice broke pitifully."—has been prepared subtly, for in an earlier narration, we learned Jeff "had kept…a secret…[;] his courage had left him [and he had acquired a] habit of trembling when he felt fearful [that] was now far beyond his control." [59