At other times, Father Victor and I would say Mass sitting on the edge of our beds across from one another. We pretended to be reading or talking softly as we said the Mass prayers. We could not use the chalice in the barracks, so our cup became a common drinking glass and our host a piece of leavened bread. If people stopped to chat, we tried to break off conversation as pleasantly and as quickly as we could and so recapture our recollection and continue our secret Eucharist. I worked outside with the lumber gangs, but Father Victor worked as an accountant in the company offices, so he always kept the Blessed Sacrament wrapped in a purificator inside his wallet in the pocket of his coat. That way, we could at least receive Communion each day if Mass became impossible. Later on, after we had made friends with the scrubwoman who took care of the barracks, we would sometimes leave the Blessed Sacrament carefully hidden inside a bundle of clothes in her little private office and living room. She was a Catholic, as we came to know, and she helped us in many ways. It was one of her greatest joys to have the Blessed Sacrament in her room and to know that the Lord she worshiped dwelt under her roof.

He Leadeth Me
Walter J. Ciszek, S.J.