Josephine is the name of our songstress.  Those who have never heard her sing simply haven't experienced the power of song.  Everyone who hears her is pulled out of him or herself, transported, and this is yet more of a mystery since our race as a whole has no love for music.  Peace and quiet {Stiller Frieden} are what we yearn for more than anything—our lives are hard (like bricks)—such is the 'music' that, generally, we love above all others, we just don't have it in us after another long day of work in which we strive to do our best in dispensing with a thousand and one cares, there's simply nothing left over with which we might pull ourselves to the distant heights, so far removed, where music comes alive.  But we don't generally shed any tears over this, not once do we go so far as to lament our loss, it's just—at least this is my personal opinion on the subject—it's just a minor irrelevancy.  There's a certain sort of sly cleverness that kicks in here, one, indeed, that we need terribly:  we consider this as being our greatest asset and we use it to laugh off any and all criticism and to console ourselves about everything.  Such is our way, such cleverness in all things practical; indeed, it kicks in even should there be some yearning—though there isn't—but if there were to be such a yearning for the sublime happiness {Glück} that music may, perhaps, deliver.  Only Josephine makes an exception, she loves music and knows how to deliver its power, and she's the only one, when she's gone then music too will disappear—and who knows for how long—right out of the midst of our lives.  I've thought about this quite often, essentially what is it about music,[i] how does it come alive and touch us so deeply.

They quickly made a decision that today was to be a day of relaxation with lots of time for taking walks – they not only had earned this vacation day from their busy work schedule, they also absolutely required a day off.  And so all three of them sat down at the table to write letters excusing their absence:  Mr. Samsa addressing his to the chief administrator; Mrs. Samsa addressing hers to the main proprietor of the shop; and Grete addressing hers to the school’s principal.  While they were busy with their writing the cleaning lady came into the room to tell them that she’d be going as she now was finished with her morning’s duties.  At first they simply nodded without even looking up, but when the lady still didn’t leave –as if there was something else that she wanted– so they all looked up at her.  “Well?” – Mr. Samsa inquired.  The lady stood smiling there in the doorway as if she’d have the best news ever that she wanted to announce, but that she wouldn’t do so unless she were asked explicitly.  The little ostrich feather that she wore was sticking practically straight up from out of her hat –this had always been an aggravation for Mr. Samsa, right from the first day onward– now it was swaying and bobbing every which way.  “Alright then, really, what is it that you want?” – Mrs. Samsa asked her.  Of the three of them, the lady had always respected Mrs. Samsa the most.  “Well” – the lady responded and then because of her exuberance and since she could hardly repress her happiness, so she couldn’t get another word out right off.  “So, regarding ‘you know what’ in the bedroom yonder… that is, how we should go about disposing of it, well, you won’t need to concern yourselves about this, everything’s already been taken care of, it’s all quite in order.”  Mr. Samsa noted that the cleaning lady was about to go into a long, drawn out explanation and since he didn’t want to hear anything more about it, so he waved her off in an unmistakable way with his hand.  Since she saw that further explanations wouldn’t be allowed, so she remembered that she was in a great hurry and crying out, obviously somewhat peeved –“Adjes allseits” – she swirled herself around like a wild woman, leaving the flat and slamming the door behind herself in a way that practically shook the paint off the walls.

from:  Essential Kafka, Rendezvous with 'otherness'

 my recently completed translation/Kafka interpretation.