The man didn't even cry when they unbound him. The summary verdict had been unanimous, the punishment swift, and just. Despite Vere's unmoved pose when he witnessed the flogging, the slightest twitches of the corners of the captain's mouth didn't lapse Claggart's attention, not even from his vantage point a good distance away. As if he was freely willing to share the yoke with this „scum of mankind", as the – equally unanimous – inofficial verdict following the official one had been.
The punishment had been mild indeed, considering the assumed offence, and had also taken into consideration that no actual breach of the ominous article 29 had occurred – due to the vehement objections of the other person involved, according to his testimony.
The deep cuts, and the bruises would heal with time; and, if he was lucky, he had even learned something. You couldn't beat out desires, no matter how hard you castigated someone or yourself – but you could learn to build an inpenetrable shield around you, keeping your true feelings to yourself, and not to trust anyone. And love and friendship on a ship was always a bargain, nothing more, nothing less – doomed from the start if one person had less to lose than the other involved. A pity – the guy had had nothing to wager won't make the same mistake again, will you… Claggart cast the abused figure a mild glance.
The crowd dissipated. With vague approval in his eyes, Claggart watched the sailor's very few friends — Billy among them — wash him with a bucketful of water and vinegar, turning the trickles of blood into broad streams of bright read. The young man was completely impassive, and probably would remain so for quite a while. Maybe he didn't even feel pain yet, in the small corner of his mind where his soul had retreated and locked the door. But you will, wounds will heal, but not the shame over your own stupidity.
Idiot. Claggart added, mentally, still not without a vague sympathy. Billy… Caring, kind, beyond measure, carefully rinsing water over the man's furrowed back with his cupped hand, unheeding that he soiled his own shirt in the process, never stopping to babble to the victim, fully aware that the words didn't matter, but that the caring touch and the voice somehow managed to penetrate the barrier the endured humiliation and pain had raised in the man's realizing they were watched, he cast Claggart a glance, hard at first, softening when their eyes met; Billy's – crying, Claggart's – brimming with tears, still unable to shed a tear that would be able to wash away a single sin.
He closed his eyes. This boy, unwittingly, tossed him into bottomless pits of agony.
You are too good, how can anyone be so good; hate me, please do, if you cannot, I will make you. I can handle what a worthless compliant instrument of cruelty and society I have become, but I cannot bear you looking at me like this. You see what I could be or was, but never will be again; it makes me feel the loss, every time anew, it tears my soul, and I cannot bear it.
Turning around, his eyes were seeking for Vere; the latter just turned away, as if sick, his gait striving for composure, but still, giving the impression of a man that had been beaten himself and not just watched a flogging.