Lucky had joined the army air force because his elder brother, John the Terrible, joined the infantry. Their boyhoods had long mingled in relentless sibling conflict over who, between them, came first at school and at games, at accumulating friends and winning praise and provoking fear. John (born Yiannis) was the most sadistic boy in Greektown; he might have been the most evil kid in all Chicago. He had the habit, after he won a fistfight, of holding down his opponent and cutting the boy’s legs or arms with a paring knife, because that’s how they used to conclude duels on the Eptanisa, the seven western islands, or so he’d heard from the old guys who worked at the Marathon Diner with John’s father. But Lucky’s parents wouldn’t hear a word against John, wouldn’t accept or acknowledge that he terrorised weaker boys and that, during fraternal disagreements, he would grab Lucky’s genitals and threaten to cut them off. Their parents saw only a first-born son who was handsome and spoke confidently, who believed in God. John the Terrible believed he would one day be rich and mother and father would share in that wealth. They celebrated John; Lucky observed this celebration. Their parents spoke Greek to John, but English to Lucky. The younger Mallios knew he was a better person than his cruel sibling, but he needed to prove this point; he had to enlist, he couldn’t let big brother get away with it. Lucky couldn’t stay at home in Greektown, playing and failing in swing bands, while John fought in the 25th infantry. The army air force assigned Lucky to mess duties while John the Terrible was in combat on the New Georgia Islands.

Lucky told Gregor: ‘Sure, I want to be appreciated.’

‘You feel like you have something to prove,’ said Gregor. ‘You want adventure, not this tedium all day. Yes, fine, you’re not a hero like your brother. Not everyone is cut out for the battlefield. You’re a musician, you’re a romantic deep down. Act like a romantic then.’

Lucky said: ‘It does a person good to get away with something, doesn’t it?’

‘Thing is,’ said Gregor, ‘you do look like Benny Goodman. You don’t look Greek. Not much anyhow.’

It was resolved. Lucky intended to prove that, despite his nickname, despite his fortunes, he was a real musician. He could play like a famous guy—he could well be a famous guy. The perilous game of being Benny Goodman would prove his worth beyond question, to other people, to himself.