I remember my early childhood, during my enrollment in the junior groups of kindergarten. We went to visit my grandfather and grandmother. They lived far from us, so we rarely saw each other. Also with them lived my uncle (father's brother), years under forty, who all the period of his life, after serving in the missile troops, drank without drying, and did not work anywhere (as strange as it is). In conversations about him, his father always called him Alkas. Grandmother and grandfather called him Alkas and no other way. Every inhabitant of this picturesque village, referred to him only as "Alkas". Based on this observation, I sincerely thought that my uncle was called that, and I often thought about it, “Well! He was called Alkas when he was a child, and he was Alkas and grew up! Apparently there were signs of something to call him so specifically from childhood." Not reaching a few kilometers to my grandmother’s house, my father turns to me and says:

O: You are this, Alkasha, do not call it Alkasha.

It’s hard to describe in words the depth of my amazement, I didn’t even have options, as it might be called. Could I have been so wrong and he’s not Alkas?

I: Eeeeye... and how to call it?

The Uncle Vanya.

After such a cognitive dissonance, I remained silent all the way, staring at the front passenger seat.