At the bottom of Chofukuyama was a small village called Yamamoto. At the top of Chofukuyama was a yamauba, an old mountain witch. For that reason, the people of Yamamoto never went up the mountain. Many of them didn't even like to look up at Chofukuyama.

One night in the middle of August, the villagers were all outside gazing up, not at the mountain but at the full moon. Just as the village headman was ready to recite a poem he had thought of, the moon was covered by a dark cloud, and all poems and conversation were covered by a roaring of wind up on Chofukuyama.

No, it wasn't the wind-- it was a voice! And the voice sounded rather impatient.

"The witch of Chofukuyama has just given birth to her first son. You are commanded to bring an offering of mochi."

The roaring stopped, the black clouds cleared, and the villagers could see the moon again. No one could think of a poem to recite. Everyone gathered around the headman, who instructed each family to bring half a pound of rice for mochi to his home.

The villagers exchanged stories of the yamauba as they pounded the rice and formed it into large cakes shaped much like the full moon they had forgotten. By midnight the work was completed. It was time for the headman to ask the question none had dared mention as they worked.

"Who will deliver the mochi?"

No one answered. No one volunteered, or even mentioned a neighbor who seemed well suited.

"I wouldn't ask anyone to do this if it were not necessary to save our village. Are you afraid?"

Still no one answered. Now there were two ruffians in Yamamoto-- not gamblers, exactly, but certainly braggarts. The headman called them over.

"Surely you two aren't afraid!"

"Certainly not, but . . ."

". . . but we really don't know the way. We'd be happy to carry the mochi if only someone would show us the way."

The headman knew he couldn't insist without volunteering to go himself. And he had so many responsibilities to tend to at home and in the village.

Then granny Yamamoto, the oldest woman in the village, stood up as straight as she could. The headman hadn't realized she was fully awake, but she walked right over to the two ruffians.

"Everyone knows where the path up Chofukuyama starts-- it's just that none of us has ever gone up it. You know I can't carry the mochi, but I'll be happy to show you the way to the top. We three don't have that much more to live for anyway, do we? Come on-- the moon is bright, and we don't have to wait for morning."

Before the ruffians could think of an answer, the other villagers had placed a board with three big cakes of mochi between them, and pushed them out the door after granny Yamamoto.

The trail was clear in the moonlight. It was steep, but granny Yamamoto managed to stay just far enough ahead that she could hear them grumbling but couldn't hear their words. In fact, she was not a bit curious what they were saying.

Halfway up the mountain a little breeze blew across her face. It rustled the leaves beside the path and the grumbling stopped. She turned and watched the men till they started toward her again. The next sound granny Yamamoto heard, half an hour later, was the chirp of some night birds and more rustling of leaves. That was followed immediately by the thud of the heavy board falling to the path, and by retreating footsteps. She called out after the two ruffians, but nothing could stop them.

Granny Yamamoto squatted down to rest and think. There was no way she could carry the mochi herself. But if she didn't take it up to the yamauba, her entire village would probably be destroyed. She pulled a large square of cloth from her sleeve and covered the mochi. Then she went off up Chofukuyama to explain the situation to the yamauba.

The sun was up when granny Yamamoto reached a cave near the top of Chofukuyama. A baby boy the size of a calf sat outside. He was playing with rocks, breaking them to gravel with his fist. The cave had a strong smell, but granny Yamamoto went up and called in to the yamauba.

"Come in please. Who is it?"

"I'm Yamamoto from Yamamoto at the bottom of the mountain."

"Oh, you must have brought the mochi. I hope my son didn't frighten you when he asked for it. Excuse me for not getting up; I'm very tired. I just love mochi. Where is it?"

"I'm afraid I had to leave it back on the trail."

"Oh, that's no problem. Taro! Go get the mochi from the trail! Pick up some meat, too. You start up some soup. The baby will be right back. And thank you for the mochi. I hope it wasn't any trouble for you."

Before granny Yamamoto could get any wood on the fire, the baby crawled into the cave with the mochi under one arm and a bear under the other. And with his help, she soon had the mochi boiling in a pot of bear broth. All three enjoyed the meal, but none as much as the yamauba.

After doing up the dishes, granny Yamamoto said she would have to be going, but she was asked to stay until the yamauba was back on her feet. For two weeks the old woman cooked meals and scrubbed the dishes, the cave, the clothes and the baby. None of them sparkled, but the cave was beginning to smell better.

Then granny Yamamoto said she really had to leave-- her people would be starting to worry. The yamauba understood.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want to cause anyone to worry. There are so many better things to do. And tell your village not to worry about sickness and crops and weather and things. I can take care of those. Thank you so much for coming. I really enjoyed the mochi. Oh, here's roll of brocade. Cut off as much as you want; if you leave a scrap you'll always have a full roll. Would you like the baby to help you down the mountain? You've been so good to me. Taro! Take it down down to the village and leave it there. Goodbye!"

Granny Yamamoto wanted to say she would walk, but she said it to the trees and bushes along the path as the baby carried her quickly down Chofukuyama.

The people of Yamamoto village were surprised when the old woman walked into the middle of the memorial service they were holding for her. Granny Yamamoto was surprised to hear of the terrific battle the two ruffians said they had fought when the yamauba had attacked them the night of the full moon (but she often called on them to run errands, and though they grumbled, they never refused). The neighboring villages were surprised that the farmers, woodcutters and silk reelers of Yamamoto village all wore fine brocade. And the village was always free from disease and bad weather, so it is not surprising that they all lived happily ever after.