By nightfall, we had made it across the unmarked Mason Dixon line. It seemed that it might be a good thing that Ivan was ill or he would have come himself. I imagined the hostile crowds’ reaction to a heated reunion between us and became very relieved. All of us would have been killed for such a prohibited public display of affection between us. We approached a large iron gate on a dark, isolated rural road. The trees were quite thick in the dark so I could see nothing beyond them. I began to sing a sloka of thanksgiving. My kids woke me and joined me immediately.

The gate had part of what I remembered from Ivan’s family crest. It had hung on the wall in our foyer. He was descended from Russian royalty. Half of my family were common British related to the history of Harvard and Massachusetts, and the other half difficult to trace. Yes, the legacy of slavery meant some history was still untraceable unless done in person. We were going to Atlanta for the reunion to be able to more genealogy research on my side of the family. We were both in our 40’s now. Too late to add to our family, we had just wanted to retire soon. Four very busy boys in one household had been enough. It seemed the driveway went on forever as we curved around and around slowly. Finally we approached the house. It looked just like the last one we lived in on the campus. I wondered how it was possible for it to be similar. It was a solid brick house, no columns, a basic salt box shape with a small porch over the entry door. I wondered to myself if this home also had a large back porch as well. We drove into the attached garage and immediately the door opened. The air filled with voices speaking Russian and English as the van’s doors opened.

“Come, come.” They said. The light was still dimmed in the garage so I could not see who was there. I longed for the feel of Ivan’s touch. It had been an unbelievable day.

“Go upstairs. Ivan is ill. He is waiting for you, Asha. We will take care of the children.” Gentle caresses fell on my shoulders and back as I passed many faces that I did not take in. I ran up the stairs two at a time. This house was identical to ours, so I knew exactly where he would be. Finally here, I stopped to catch my breath as I opened the door. Ivan lay on the bed. I rushed to his side. His blond hair had turned all white. His hair had been cut to his shoulders but he had a long uncut white beard as well. He was sleeping but I sat on the bed and caressed his cheek. How had he aged 20 years in a day? How much time had I been away? What had actually happened to us? How could this be a different Ivan?

His hand moved to mine on his cheek and his eyes suddenly opened. “Asha.” he said sighing. I leaned over and kissed him. I could not speak as tears ran down my cheeks. He struggled to sit up and I held him in a tight embrace. We had no need to exchange words, no need for ceremony. We had been together long enough to form one mind and one soul in 2 bodies. Together we were Devi, the perfect union of Shiva and Parvati. I silently wept, grateful to be in his arms again. Our kisses and embraces seemed to reach my soul filling the spaces I had not known were empty before. I could never have imagined our unplanned separation. It was as Sergei had said. In this plane, Ivan and I still had the same souls as the life I remembered. I cared only that we had been reunited at this very moment. The answers to my questions did not make a difference. True love is like a string that cannot be unwound, not even with an accident of string theory.