Three people slept at the foot of the hill, each with a chain beside his feet. Their names were Simple, Sloth, and Presumption. Chris meant to walk around them, but after a few steps he came back. His own bundle had only just come free. Seeing other people chained up troubled him.
“Wake up. I can find someone to help.” He crouched and gently patted the person nearest him.
Simple opened his eyes. “I don’t see any danger.” Sloth pulled his clothes over his face and said he wanted to sleep a little longer. Presumption drew his feet away. “I know my own business.” Soon all three had closed their eyes again.
Chris called several times, growing more urgent, until at last he stood up angrily. Why won’t they listen? he thought. He had believed that if he explained something so obvious clearly enough, people would surely agree.
But they did not agree. He stood there for a while, left a small piece of bread beside them, and told them once more about the gate nearby where they could ask for help. Then he went on. He could leave a reminder, but he could not say yes for anyone else.
A little farther on, two people dropped down from the wall. Their names were Formalist and Hypocrisy. They straightened their clothes and soon caught up with Chris. Formalist asked whether he too was going to the Celestial City. Hypocrisy looked at Chris’s new clothes and gave him a very friendly smile.
“Did you come through the narrow gate?” Chris asked.
“Too far away,” Formalist said. “Everyone where we come from climbs the wall. If you do it neatly enough, what’s the difference?”
Hypocrisy held up a sheet of paper. “I copied every word on the gate. If anyone asks, I’ll read it to them.”
Chris was not very good at arguing. Looking at the paper, he asked, “But has the gatekeeper met you? Do you know who to ask for help on the road?” Neither answered. They only said he was young and knew very little.
A mountain appeared ahead, called the Hill Difficulty. The right road went straight up, while level paths ran off on either side. One was called Danger, the other Destruction. The spring at the foot of the hill was cool. Chris took a few drinks and studied the stone signs at the turning.
Formalist said Danger sounded shorter. Hypocrisy said Destruction was probably just a frightening name. Each took a side path, laughing at Chris for choosing the most tiring way.
Chris looked up at the high hill. He was tired, and badly wanted to believe there was a way around it. He read the signs again, felt for the scroll close to his body, and finally sat down to retie his shoelaces.
Losing the bundle had not made the hill flatten itself. But this time he had two free hands to hold the rocks. He could not climb quickly, but he could always move a little higher.