In the next room, a fire burned beside a wall. Someone kept throwing water onto it. The water hissed as it fell into the flames. Chris expected the fire to go out soon, but after flickering a little, it burned brightly again.
The Interpreter led him around behind the wall. Another person stood there with a jar, slowly adding oil to the fire. The person throwing water could not see him. Chris had not seen him either.
“I thought the fire was keeping itself going,” Chris said.
“Sometimes you can see only the difficulties, and not how the Savior is helping you,” the Interpreter said. “But not seeing something does not mean it is not there. You can pray, and you can accept the help that comes to you.”
Chris thought of the branch Help had held out to him. He had treated calling out as a last resort, and had almost been too weak to hold on. Now, looking at the oil jar’s narrow spout, he suddenly wished he had spoken sooner.
They came next to a small courtyard. Across it stood a beautiful palace. Armed people guarded its entrance, trying to frighten travelers away. One traveler went to the registration table, wrote down his name, raised his shield, and walked firmly through the entrance. A song of welcome rose from within.
“Isn’t he afraid?” Chris asked.
“You can be afraid and still go forward. Being brave does not mean you have to defeat everyone.”
The last room made Chris uneasy. Someone sat in an iron cage with his back to the door. Once, he had thought he knew everything and refused to listen to advice. Later, he had pushed help away again and again. Now he was certain that nobody would ever want him.
“Then call for someone now,” Chris said, going closer to the cage.
The man did not turn. He only repeated, “Too late. Too late.” Chris stood there for a while, feeling cold inside, as though he could hear his own voice in the marsh again.
After they left, he caught the Interpreter’s sleeve. “Sometimes I feel I can’t do things right either. Will I become like that?”
The Interpreter stopped and looked at him carefully. “You are asking now, and you are willing to listen. Fear and sadness do not lock you away just because you feel them. Don’t mistake everything that man says for God’s answer to you.”
Chris let go of his sleeve. He was still a little afraid, but now he could say what frightened him.
After supper, he asked for paper and wrote a letter home. He wrote about where he was, the narrow gate, and Goodwill. He wrote how much he missed his family. Near the end he paused for a long time, then added: “I broke that bowl. It wasn’t my sister. I was afraid to admit it before, but I am telling you now. I will come back, and I will tell you about the road I find.”
“When will the letter get there?” he asked.
“When a traveler who carries letters passes through, we will ask him to take it.” The Interpreter put the letter away safely. “You don’t have to finish everything tonight.”
Chris kept the draft he had crossed out and rewritten, then folded the remaining paper for another letter later. Before going to bed, he went to look at the fire once more. Water was still being thrown in front of the wall. Behind it, the oil jar was not empty yet.