their steady , deliberate , and tinny banging rose to his ears , echoing and fey in the stone throat of the dead well : jang-jang jang-jang -- hat clapped his hands over his mouth , and for a moment he could see it down there , perhaps only in the eye of imagination ... lying there in the mud , eyes glaring up at the small circle of his boy 's face peering over the lip of the well ( as if marking that face forever ) , lips expanding and contracting around those grinning teeth , cymbals clapping , funny wind-up monkey .