Growing wings

In a small town called Whisper a man called Pavlov Ivanovich was laid to rest. The only one's present was some passing birds, one man and a woman with a young child. The man in the grave was known only to the manager of the small boardinghouse where he had lived for the past two years and Livvie who served him coffee in the local coffeeshop every morning. Nobody seemed to know exactly when he first appeared, he just showed up one morning, with an old battered violin case tucked under his arm, wearing an overcoat that could fit two people in it and a hat that seemed as old as him. He used to always sit at the same table, slowly drinking his black coffee and quitely speaking to his violin case which he used to place on the chair next to him. Although Pavlov never answered any of Livvie's questions, she always asked him how he was and if he slept well. The town got used to the odd fellow with his violin and he no longer caused worried looks or hushed whispers.
Every night at 7 pm Pavlov would open his violin case and pull out his violin. He would play for exactly two hours. The music he played sounded wounded, fragile, haunting, and heartbreakingly beautiful.
People of the town who mostly enjoyed country music at first called Pavlov's music "cat's screetching" but as time went on, many started to stop by and listen. They would sit on the grass in the park infront of the boardinghouse, stare at the little window from which both music and light streamed forth.
Nobody would speak, people would just quietly come and go while notes of music took flight into the air like glistening, glowing, luminous fireflies.
Livvie had on occasion tried to strike up a conversation with Pavlov, but he would overt his eyes and quietly mumble something in broken english, so Livvie decided to just speak at him, not expecting any answers. Time passed and Pavlov became part of the town although nobody knew anything about him except for his name which he had written in the ledger when he took on his room.
When Pavlov didn't show for his coffee one morning and there still was no sign of him at lunch, Livvie became worried, closed the coffeeshop and walked to the boardinghouse.
"Bruce, have you seen Pavlov this morning?" she asked the manager.
Bruce looked up from his paper, "He's not been for his coffee yet? he answered.
"No, and it's almost two o'clock now, I'm worried Bruce".
"Can we please check his room and make sure he is alright?" Livvie asked.
Bruce put down the paper and grabbed his keys.
They walked the three flights of stairs to Pavlov's room and with each step an increased sense of urgency.
"Pavlov, are you ok? Pavlov?" Livvie asked.
No answer.
"Pavlov, this is Bruce, please open the door, are you ok mate?"
Nothing. Bruce tried the door and it opened.
Pavlov was lying on top of the bed, fully clothed, with the violin caressed to his chest. In the open violin case there was a note. Livvie suddenly found it hard to breathe so went to open the window while Bruce picked up the written note in the violin case.
"Dear Livvie, my english is not so good so please forgive me the spelling. I want you please to have my violin. You have always been most kind to me. I have heard you speak of your son wanting to learn to play so I would be a the happy man if your son would use mine. I was given the violin by my papa and since I no longer have a family I would love for a the violin to have a new home. Please not worry, I have been a sick man for a long time, I knew this was coming. Many thanks, Pavlov Ivanovich."
Livvie and Bruce looked at each other quietly. Gently Bruce removed the violin from Pavlov's arms and put it back in the case. Livvie, still clutching the note in her hand kissed Pavlov on the forehead.
"I will contact John and get him to come", Bruce said softly.
"I will pay for the funeral", Livvie responded.
For a moment they both stood in silence looking at the man on the bed.
Suddenly a small finch flew in through the open window, briefly rested on Pavlov's chest then flew out again.
Two weeks after the funeral Livvie's son came up to her and asked: "Mum, what does Stradivarious mean, it says so inside my violin?"